


The Proud and Noble Black

by Leigh Kaze (AliexahDatenshi)



Series: Meissa Black: The Child Borne Out of Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Gen, Jealous Ron, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Nice Severus Snape, Past Child Abuse, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 151,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliexahDatenshi/pseuds/Leigh%20Kaze
Summary: On the night of the Dark Lord's fall Bellatrix Black lost not one, not two, but three things in an hour. Since then the Black family has faded into obscurity - their descendants dead, disowned, imprisoned or married off. Yet when Harry Potter made his return to the Wizarding World another student, bearing the same striking features of the infamous Death Eater, made her own debut.





	1. A Deal with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has already been published on fanfiction.net, I promise that Skylar Datenshi and I are the same people. I sincerely hope ya'll like the story and don't be afraid to leave reviews/comments.

A tall raven haired pre-teen walks into the car, the door sliding shut and minimized the noise of the train - glancing into the compartments in search of a certain blonde. It wasn’t until the teen walked to the far end of the train that a familiar voice rang clearly in the clamor of the train.

Curious as to what business he had found the pre-teen wonders on over to him. It doesn’t take long for the brunette to locate the blonde, flanked by two boys whom the pre-teen hesitates to name as friends.

“This is Crabbe and Goyle,” the blonde is introducing himself to someone inside the compartment, “And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

There’s a faint noise of someone snickering and the brunette notes Draco’s face becoming frigid, his pride and name insulted. “Think my name’s funny, do you?” there was a sneer in his voice. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

The brunette sighs and pinches the bridge of their nose, Malfoy pride strikes again.

Draco turned his head to someone else, possibly the first person he had been talking to. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

He held out his hand to shake their hand, but whoever it was they didn't take it.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks and that was her cue to step in.

“Draco,” the brunette calls, pushing away from the wall and crossing over to him.

“What do you want,” the boy snaps before he turns his eyes towards the brunette. “Meissa.”

The brunette grins at the change in his tone, turning from cold and distant to moderately warm.

“What brings you here?” he asks.

Meissa walks up to him, narrowing her eyes at his friends and causing them to back away. Next to Draco she turns her gaze into the compartment and sees a red head - a Weasley as Draco had identified - and a bespectacled raven haired boy. The boys are the sole occupants in the compartment so it's easy to identify who offended Draco. 

“I thought you might be up to something,” she remarks.

“I am offended you might think that!”

She smirks at the blonde before turning her gaze to Crabbe and Goyle.

“Leave,” she gestures to the two brutes. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see their unsure faces before she narrows her eyes at them. “I know you’re impaired but leave now before I do something.”

Draco looks at Meissa, studying the way she stood and acted.

“Let’s go,” Draco says as he steps away from the brunette.

“Draco,” the brunette calls over to him and when he turns to acknowledge her, “Stay out of trouble.” A slight head tilt was all she got in response.

Without the three boys breathing down her neck she turns to acknowledge the boys inside the compartment.

“I offer my sincerest apologies for Draco’s behavior,” she bows her head slightly. “I cannot offer apologies for him personally but I offer apologies nonetheless.”

The red head narrows his eyes at her as she simply crosses her arms and raises a brow at him. “Anyone who is a friend of Malfoy sure isn’t our friend.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she remarks with a sly grin, dark brown eyes glinting in the light. She glances over to the brunette sitting quietly opposite of the red head.

“What do you want?” the bespectacled boy questions, green eyes behind his round taped glasses.

She casually leans against the frame of the door. “I know Draco and he’s not one to let any slights to his pride rest.”

“Your point?” It was the red head who said this.

“My point is I can curb the worse of his anger, if we make a deal.”

This got her suspicion from the red head - something she had expected from the pureblood traitor as Draco would have put it.

“What would you gain from the deal?”

She smiles at the brunette. “Perhaps a favor to be paid at a later date?” she inquires, wondering how smart the brunette is.

“No,” the boy immediately dismissed.

She grins at him in approval. “Smart,” she states simply.

He narrows his eyes at her.

She laughs. “At the moment, I have nothing to gain from making a deal with you. So I propose this. A deal in which I may ask for a favor, within reason, at a later date. In return I will prevent Draco’s ire with you from reaching dangerous proportions for the entirety of this school year.”

“Is that all we get?” the brunette inquires.

“It is as far as I am willing to go,” Meissa retorts. “If you want more then I am willing to discuss it again next year on our return.”

The boys exchange looks with each other.

“Okay then.”

She offers her hand, “My name’s Meissa. Yours?”

“I’m Harry and this is Ron.”

“Pleasure,” she shook hands with one and then the other. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she turns on the spot, intending to leave.

Until a warm body hits her, causing her to jump as a pair of arms wrap around her waist. Her body stiffening as bushy brown hair appears in her line of sight.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Wide brown eyes met equally dark brown underneath wild bushy hair.

She quickly separates herself from the slightly smaller girl, locking her hands behind her back. “My apologies,” she bows slightly to her before beating a calm retreat.

“Who was that?” she distantly hears the girl asks the two boys before she steps into the next car, the rattle of Hogwarts Express deafening out everything.

~MJB~

Meissa narrows her eyes at the blonde, crossing her arms as she stares him down.

“What were you thinking?”

“I’m not seeing anything wrong.”

“Oh, really? You insulted one of the boys and then turned around and offered the other friendship.”

“Again, nothing wrong.”

She rolls her eyes and her hands moved to her hips, giving Draco an impression that he was in serious trouble.

“If you wanted to offer the boy friendship I doubt that insulting the boy whom he’s with would be brilliant plan.”

Draco shakes his head stubbornly. “Why would I expect him to side with a filthy blood traitor?”

She sighs as she runs a hand through her thick long hair.

“You made a serious misjudgment,” she remarks.

“Bugger off,” he gripes.

Another sigh escapes her before she reaches over and grips his shoulders. “I know you’re young, but try and think next time.”

She gets a huff from him and instead of bothering to smooth out his anger she grabs her uniform and robes and leaves to change. Hogwarts is due to appear soon and like the girl that had rushed into her, she wants to change.

A white buttoned shirt, a grey V-neck jumper, and instead of a skirt she chose to wear trousers. She had no doubt that the professors would be onto her the moment she stepped onto the school grounds but her mum had always taught her that she should remain true to herself. And wearing skirts just isn’t who she is.

~MJB~

She leans casually against the railing, her eyes watching Draco watch Harry and his friend Ron. Nearby is the girl that had ran into her just outside the boys’ compartment. She stands out to Meissa with her thick brown bushy hair - excitement all but oozing out of the other girl. She makes a note to keep an eye on this one before she turns her attention to the boys once more. It's clear to her that the two boys had become fast friends in the span of the trip. Harry’s wide eyed awe is amusing for the raven-haired girl.

It's clear to her that he was raised in the muggle world, she can see that clearly. She's not entirely sure how she feels about that particular bit. She'll have to sort out that concept at a later date. 

Ron - much like Draco had observed - is a Weasley and thus a pureblood so it is clear to her that he isn’t in awe of his surroundings. In fact, wasn’t he the youngest boy in the family?

Meissa is still leaning against the railing when someone screamed, causing more than a handful of students to jump. Startled from her thoughts she looks about to find that roughly twenty ghosts had just steamed through the back wall. Recognizing them as the resident ghosts she settles back against the railing as she watches the varying expressions on the First year’s faces.

She had tuned out the arguments the ghosts are having about another and was considering something when Professor McGonagall, a tall black-haired witch with a stern face, returned to the entrance hall. Ushering them into a line and instructing them to follow her.

The Great Hall looks just like she has imagined it - high ceilings with an illusion to mirror the skies, floating candles, and four tables - so she pays no attention to the events around her. Vague memories of stories tumble through her thoughts until she registers singing - drawing her from her mind. She catches the tail end of the song, unable to hold back the chuckles prompted by the lyrics. Although she does sober up when she sees Professor McGonagall pulling out a long roll of parchment. 

It's time to begin.

Meissa's quick to get bored, it couldn’t be helped at all really. There's nothing much to do except wait for her name to be called. 

“Granger, Hermione,” McGonagall calls out first after everyone had moved into the Great Hall.

She smiles to herself at the anxious way the bushy haired girl parted from the crowd and stepped up to the stool. Though the smile quickly dropped when she overhears Ron’s whispered comment.

Maybe she should’ve left him to Draco’s ire.

“Gryffindor!”

She smirked at the relieved expression on the brunette’s face. “Congrats,” she mumbles softly as the next person called went up.

Her lips twist into a smirk when Draco was called - a laugh nearly burst out when the hat declared his house just before it touched his crown.

Then it was…

“Potter, Harry.”

Wait, what?

She straightens up and narrows her dark eyes. Harry Potter? Harry Bloody Potter? The Boy-Who-Lived?

Her lips pulled back in a silent snarl before she schools herself. The boy from the train stepped forward and sat on the stool.

Harry Potter is the same boy whom she offered and agreed to provide protection?

Bloody Hell…

She crosses her arms and angrily cursed herself. Why hadn’t she asked for his surname?

She listen to the hat’s mutter and grumble as he turned Harry’s head left and right. On several occasions she heard the hat mention Slytherin but in the end it was declared that Harry’s home for the rest of his time in Hogwarts would be, “GRYFFINDOR!!”

She scowls to herself as she swore repeatedly to herself. Until she heard her name. Though in hindsight, it should’ve been called a long time ago.

“Bla-,” the Gryffindor Head Professor chokes at her surname.

The old woman clears her throat and tries again.

“Black, Meissa,” McGonagall repeats herself.

There was a collective gasp all across the Great Hall at her surname and she walks up to the stool. Making herself comfortable on it, she meets McGonagall’s eyes with a sly grin on her face.

She could imagine what the old woman is seeing in her face. It’s the same face she sees in old family pictures. She has long thick shiny dark hair, thin lips, heavily-lidded eyes with long eyelashes, and a strong jaw, much like a certain woman renowned across Great Britain.

Anyone that knew her mother would see her in her.

The hat slid down slightly and she huffs at the brim.

‘Well, well, the last Black Heir,’ she hears the Hat remark. ‘Who knew that this school would be graced with the presence of another and perhaps last of the Black line?’

“Mum warned me about your chattiness,” she remarks drily.

‘Interesting… why did two different women appear in your mind?’

“The house,” she all but bit out.

‘Mm… You have the bravery and daring of Gryffindor. The patience and loyalty of Hufflepuff. The intelligence and wit of Ravenclaw. And the ambition and cunning of Slytherin… So where would you fit…’

She rolls her shoulders to ease the tension in them. She feels that her patience is being tested by the hat.

‘You have such a potential and would do well in Gryffindor.’ A sneer nearly appeared on her face at the thought of being in the same house as Harry Potter. ‘Ah, not Gryffindor then. Perhaps then…’

“SLYTHERIN!!”

The hat was ripped off her head by her own hand, “Not a word to what you’ve seen,” she growls softly before she hands the limp thing to Professor McGonagall.

She joins Draco’s side, sliding between him and a girl, someone who had the potential for great beauty but was already hardened by spite. And she wasn’t exactly pleased with the amount of influence Draco’s group of cronies - this seems to be the best word for them - have on him.

“They look like their world has just ended.”

She snickers softly under her breath. “I think you and I know exactly why.”

“Not our fault they’re bloody morons.”

She moves forward and props her chin on a fist.

“I wonder whom they think I’m the daughter of.”

Draco gives her a look and she turns her mouth into her fist to hide her snickers.

“You’re serious?”

She pauses to think this.

“Honestly? Not really. I know who my parent is.”

He glances at her before looking up when the last student had been called and sorted. “Looks like they’re done.”

She turns her gaze up towards Dumbledore, narrowing her eyes at him before moving them across the Great Hall. A scowl appearing on her face briefly when she spots Harry Potter with the Gryffindors.

“What’s with you?”

An elbow thumps into her side and she turns her glare at him.

“The hell was that for!” she hisses at him.

“Who’s worthy enough to earn the Black glare?”

“Bugger off.”

“Attitude, cousin, attitude.”

“I’ll give you attitude if you keep testing it.”

He smirks at her before turning his attention back to Dumbledore in time for him to announce that the feast is to begin.

A grin appeared on his face when the food appeared on the dishes.

Meissa laughs softly at his expressions before grabbing a variety of food available. Even making an effort to grab some greens - as much as she wants to make a face at it.

~MJB~

“Hurry up, come on,” the Prefect urges to the First-years, her constant drone giving Meissa a headache.

Choosing to linger at the end of the group instead of following her closely like many of the others.

Even from this distance she still could hear her drone and to be frank it was starting to get on her nerves.

Up ahead she saw that Draco and his group of friends were whispering with each other.

“Bloody hell,” she mutters to herself, pressing her knuckles to her throbbing temples. She needs to go through her trunks for one of the potions her godfather gave her to last a month. Though if a headache this strong is already hitting her on the first night then she has a problem.

“Something wrong?” she hears someone question, bringing her attention around to her side.

Her eyebrows furrowing momentarily at the person before realizing that it was a girl, a blonde with pale blue eyes. She couldn’t put a name to her but the fact was, if she’s in Slytherin, she wasn’t exactly she was going to trust her until she knows her real well.

“No,” she answers, sliding her hands into the pockets of her trousers. She cast a look at the blonde next to her. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not so inclined to share my innermost thoughts with you.”

The blonde gives her a smirk. “You’re smart if you’re slow to trust.”

“Yet don’t be too slow,” Meissa finishes for the blonde.

“You’re going to do well in Slytherin,” the girl remarks with a chuckle.

Meissa couldn’t help the smirk and offers the blonde a hand. “Meissa Black.”

“Daphne Greengrass.”

Meissa raises a brow at her surname. “Quite a family you have.”

“Not as much as you do.” She shrugs her shoulders at the blonde. “How does it feel, to be in the Black family?”

“There isn’t really much left of the old family,” she remarks drily.

And it was true. Two were in prison, one disowned, and the other married into another pureblood family. Everyone else in the family tree were too obscured to be really considered part of the Black family in her opinion or disowned and been long gone by this point in time. It was clear to her that the Black family will one day be no more, an ancient family soon to be dead in name. Existing only in female lines but someday that may disappear as well.

“This is true,” Greengrass remarks before everyone stopped in front of a plain stone wall.

Meissa, who was still supporting a migraine, cranes her head slightly to see what’s happening in the front.

“Purus Sanguis,” the prefect declares in a clear enough voice that it carried to the back.

Meissa grimaced, her voice cutting into the sensitive nerves.

“Hey,” she hears before a hand grips her wrist and pulls her through the opening before the bricks slid back into place. “You’re really not alright.”

She waves her hand in dismissal, “I’m fine.”

“I doubt it.”

She shakes her arm free and despite the fact that the Prefect is in the middle of a speech she slipped past her, pinching the bridge of her nose to try and stave off the migraine.

“Hey!” she hears the prefect calls to her, “Get back here!”

She whirls around, her 12 ½ wand already in hand, dark eyes glinting in the low light. “You’ll have to excuse me, Prefect Farley. I care not wit about your welcoming speech. Write it all down and send it to me if you really think it’s worth my time and attention.”

She stood there on the stairs for half of a heartbeat, waiting to see what the prefect would do. When nothing happens she turns and makes her way up one flight of stairs and finding her trunk.

Nearly ten minutes later Greengrass was in the room with two other girls. One of them she recognized as the girl from dinner, another she couldn’t but her heavy jutting jaw and large square build of her body was enough to give Meissa an impression.

By the time the girls had come up to the dormitory she was lounging on the bed furthest from the door yet closest to the window, giving her the privilege of watching various oddities swim by.

“Who said you can take that bed,” the spiteful girl from dinner sneers at her. Meissa turns her gaze up away from her book and arches an eyebrow at her.

“You think you’ve earned this one?” she bares her teeth in a grin. A grin similar to the one the most infamous Black would use.

The grin widens when the spiteful girl takes a step back.

“If you believe you earned it, then, by all means.”

She takes several steps back and leans casually against the wall, making a gesture for them to take the bed.

Distrust was clear in the girls’ eyes, in everyone except Greengrass’, and the spiteful girl looked between Meissa and the bed.

But something seemed to make her decide to attempt her luck and she confidently cross over to the abandoned bed. Just as she was going to sit down the drapes came alive and wraps around her, to her shock.

“Pansy!” the heavy built girl cries as the girl in question squirmed and struggled to get free.

“Looks like it has rejected you,” Meissa cackles, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“You!” the girl practically screeches. Meissa brings her hands up and reveals that she was not holding her wand. “Get me down from here!”

She smirks as the girl struggles even harder. “What about you?” she questions the other girls. “Do you wish to try your luck?” The bulky girl - for what other word could she use to describe this one - was quick to shake her head no.

“I didn’t think so,” Meissa remarks as she crosses over to her bed, picking up her book. She stuck a finger in place as she withdraws her wand. With a casual flick the drapes release their hold on the girl - was her name Panty or Pansy - and settles back into place.

Pansy and her friend - she’ll need to figure out her name sometimes soon - were quick to beat a hasty retreat from the dormitory and she settles back down onto the bed. Ever so grateful she had taken the potion as soon as she had gotten to the room.

“How are you feeling?” she hears Greengrass ask before the bed to her left creaks under a weight.

“Why are you so interested in my wellbeing.”

Daphne makes a noise that prompts Meissa to turn her head towards the blonde.

“In full honesty? You’re different.”

“And this is interesting why?”

She watches Daphne raise an eye brow at her. “You didn’t grow up with us.”

“I’m not really seeing your point.”

“…I don’t want the life our parents lived.”

Meissa tilts her head. “Last I checked your parents were neutral in that.”

“They may have been neutral but they were still in the war.”

She shrugs her shoulders, seeing no point in arguing this. She finds a bookmark and slides it into place before snapping the book shut.

“To answer your earlier question,” she starts, earning a muted smile from the blonde, “I’m feeling much better.”

“Good… You do realize that Prefect Farley is a bit narky now, right?”

“Don’t care.”

“She’s a prefect.” She gives Daphne a look. “And you still don’t care.”

“Got it in one.”

The blonde shakes her head in disbelief.

“I might have to revise my thought about you doing well in this House,” Daphne remarks.

Meissa laughs and all but corners the blonde against a wall. “It would be wise to never assume things about me.” Dark eyes meet light blue and she smirks in amusement at the curiosity in Daphne’s eyes with only a hint of self-preservation.

“Never forget,” she remarks, “that I owe no one alliances except to myself.”

Daphne nods her head slowly and Meissa couldn’t resist the urge so brings a hand to the blonde’s face, cupping her cheek.

“Meissa?”

Reminded of where she is and what’s she doing Meissa drops her hand and steps back. She had no words for what just happened so she simply turns away and shuts the drapes around her bed. Shutting out everyone, including Daphne.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone once commented - on fanfiction - asking why Meissa was after Granger and Potter. In hindsight that was a mistake on my part. But I had been following the movie at the time and there was no apparent order to the names called. For one, I think Ron Weasley was called before Harry Potter.


	2. Flying High

The week passed quietly without further incidents between Daphne and Meissa. The young Black heir offered no words of apologies for her odd behavior that night and Daphne sought none.

Both of them seemingly content with the prospect of behaving like none of it had happened.

Aside from a few snide comments from Draco towards the Gryffindors, the deal between Meissa and the boys were still strong.

She might have enjoyed them being late to Transfiguration and Professor Snape’s relentless questionings of Harry - she definitely enjoyed that though she almost wished that Snape gave Hermione a chance. She would’ve impressed him. That much she was confident of.

There were a few incidents with a Gryffindor with an Irish accent and his absurd tendency to cause things to explode. The moment with the water was probably the funniest moment yet.

“Does that even work?” she wonders out loud, leaning casually against a wall.

“What?”

Draco tilts his head at her and she blinks at him before cursing herself for forgetting her surroundings again.

“Was thinking about that Finnigan boy.”

He looks at her strangely. “Do you fancy a Gryffindor?” The sheer disbelief coloring his words had Meissa glaring at him.

“Do you peg me as a moron, cousin?”

He laughs and shakes his head though she detected an edge in his movements. “So,” he starts after a moment went by without them saying anything. “What about Finnigan?”

“He was attempting to turn water to rum the other day.”

Draco snorts in remembrance of that.

Meissa laughed at the memory of the resulting explosion of his umpteenth attempt. “I was wondering if it’s possible to turn water to rum.”

Draco shrugs his shoulders. “We have magic, anything is possible.”

She looks sharply at him. “Except raising the dead,” she remarks before leaving him behind.

She didn’t care enough to glance back. Had she done so she would’ve seen the grimace on his face at her cold dismissal.

But she didn’t care. Her insides felt like ice and she couldn’t find the fire to thaw herself out.

She crosses the grounds, her pace swift and her robes unintentionally billowing out behind her, caught in the rush of wind.

“Meissa!” she hears a familiar voice call out and she stops in her tracks, turning to find Daphne rushing but not rushing.

The strange contradictions in her head only serve to frustrate her even more and indecision wars at her.

Fortunately for the blonde she caught up with the raven-haired girl before she could make a decision and a hand to her forearm caught the girl’s attention. “Thank you,” she says, her words somehow warming the Black heiress.

“Did you finish the Potions homework?” Daphne asks, curious.

“Yes. Did you need help?”

“I’d like that.”

Meissa gives her a crooked smile and locks her hands behind her back. “We got flying class in a bit. Think you’re ready for it?”

Daphne seems to grimace, prompting a laugh out of Meissa.

“You don’t like flying?” Daphne averts her gaze. “Wait,” the raven haired girl tilts her head as she looks at the blonde Slytherin, “Are you afraid of heights?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Daphne snaps.

Meissa, instead of getting irritated with her, just smiles at her. “Guess I’ll just have to help you out with it,” she remarks.

“Why? Why does it matter?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders and turns her gaze away. “Flying can be a means of escape,” she tells the blonde quietly before leaving her side.

Not caring if Daphne was following she reaches up to pull her thick curls back into a braid, tying it off and lets it settle onto her back. When most of the Gryffindors have arrived she turns and looks for Daphne, finding the blonde not too far away and seemingly watching her.

With class about to start she waves the blonde over and waited patiently for her. Tilting her head at the slow pace the blonde was taking, she waits for her to join her, taking her pace as a sign of nervousness. Instead of saying anything she offers Daphne a broom once she’s within arm’s reach. “Don’t be so nervous,” she offers as an advice.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Daphne whispers to her as Madame Hooch made her way to them.

“I swear,” is her only response before Meissa looks across to the Gryffindors.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were close together - though Hermione was standing apart from them as if she wasn’t quite welcomed by them.

“This is going to be so embarrassing,” Meissa hears Daphne mutter softly under her breath.

Drawn away from her attention to the trio across from her, she looks at the blonde. “Flying is like casting magic. Just stay concentrated and calm.” She smiles reassuringly at her, “This is the first lesson so it won’t be too bad.”

“I’m helpless on a broom.”

Meissa was going to say something but right at that moment Madam Hooch started the lesson.

“Good afternoon, class.”

“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch.”

Further down the line she greeted an Amanda before she turned around to address everyone. “Welcome to your first flying lesson.” Meissa was standing in the middle of the Slytherin line and was tempted to peek around Draco to see. “Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick.”

Meissa grimaces and instead of following that bit of instruction she steps up to the right side of broom, getting an odd look from Daphne while Draco just glances over.

“Come on now, hurry up. Now stick your right hand over the broom and say, Up!”

The raven haired Slytherin grimaced again and does as instructed but instead used her left hand. In union with the class she intones with as much command and force as possible, “Up!”

On the first try her broom flies into her hand, nearly knocking her off balance. Across from her the same thing happened to Harry, an awed smile appearing on his face.

Next to him Hermione stares at him as her own broom barely responds to her.

Besides her, Draco’s second command has the broom flying into his hand and he smiled smugly before it slips slightly when he sees that she already had hers in hand. She smiles cheekily at him.

“Meissa!”

Startled to hear her name she turns her gaze over to Daphne who was trying to get the broom to cooperate with her.

“With feeling!” she tells her just seconds before the same words leave Madam Hooch’s.

Hermione continued her attempts to summon her broom and it was getting borderline hilarious to watch. But Daphne, she could see that ultimately her fear was keeping her from being able to summon the broom up to her.

“Daphne, stop,” Meissa grips her forearm. “Take a deep breath.” Daphne shot her a look, a glare to be honest, but did as requested. “Feel better?”

“A bit. But I still need to -.”

“Just relax, concentrate, and with feeling.”

Daphne takes a deep breath and seemed like she was bracing herself before she intones with an authority she hadn’t had before. “Up!”

The broom flies up and lands firmly in her palm, her shocked face causing Meissa to grin. “See? All you needed to was focus.”

She sees the redhead scowl angrily at the broom and nudges the blondes in time to turn their attention over to him.

The three of them were watching when Ron snapped out a sharp ‘Up!!’. The school’s broom flies up and whams him on the nose. “Ow!”

Meissa snickers, Draco laughed alongside with Harry - each for their own reasons - and Daphne was shaking her head.

“Now, once you’ve got hold of your broom I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don’t want to be sliding off the end,” Madam Hooch instructs as she walks up the path.

But she did stop in front of Meissa when she notes that she was holding the broom with her left hand. “Ms. Black, I believe I said to use your right hand.”

“I am left handed, Madame Hooch,” was the Black Heiress’ only response to the woman’s comment. The tone of her voice flat and clearly convoying her boredom with the conversation already.

The witch looks at her sternly, suspicion clearly written across her face but chose to move on when Meissa brushed her robes aside to reveal that her wand halter was strapped to her left thigh, within reach of her hand. The end of the handle of her wand resting against her hip, a reassuring pressure.

“Mount up!” the professor repeats.

Meissa rolls her eyes and straddles the broom as instructed, glancing over to Daphne to see how she’s doing.

“When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down.”

“On my whistle… 3… 2…”

Meissa winces at the shrill blast of the woman’s whistle and somewhere across from her she hears a boy’s frightened whimpers.

Fighting through the headache now throbbing through her temples she forces herself to look through the pain and see that it was a Gryffindor. He was already higher than everyone else.

“Mr. Longbottom!” Meissa hears Madam Hooch calls.

Longbottom? From the pure-blood family Longbottom?

“Neville, what are you doing?!” a girl calls.

“Neville?” she repeats to herself, recalling vaguely something her godfather had told her. She knows that Augusta Longbottom, the matriarch of the family has only one heir after her son and his wife were killed in the Wizarding War.

As the boy rose higher Meissa shields her eyes to watch him, distantly hearing Madam Hooch stuttering his name.

“Well…” she drawls as the boy soars out of control. “Who’s to blame for this one?” she questions as everyone else watched.

“Wasn’t me,” Draco remarks, though his voice indicated that he wished he had thought of it.

Meissa had no doubt that he was thinking of ways to inject himself into the situation and make it all about himself.

“Draco, whatever you’re thinking of,” Meissa warns when she sees him plotting.

“Meissa!” Daphne suddenly shouts, causing the two cousins to look away from each other in time to see that Longbottom had conked against a wall before zooming back towards them.

Alarmed Meissa pushes Daphne and Draco out of the way before dropping down flat. The rush of wind resulting from him flying past made her shudder. The second she felt him pass she was back up on her feet, following his process with her eyes.

Until his robes caught on a statue’s spear tip, yanking him flat off the broom and hung precariously in place.

“He’s going to fall!” Meissa shouts, tensing and just seconds from mounting the broom.

“Help!” he cries, his robes ripping.

She makes to mount the broom but before she could even swing her leg over the handle of the broom the robe rips and he falls.

His fall was broken by a torch but his luck just wasn’t with him for he slipped out of his robes and fell the rest of the way to the ground before anyone could shout a spell.

“Everyone out of the way!” she hears Madame Hooch cries causing everyone to part before her. She barely even moved him before Longbottom was crying out in pain. “Oh, oh, oh, oh dear. It's a broken wrist. Tch, tch, tch. Good boy, come on now, up you get.”

Out of the corner of her eye Meissa sees Draco reach down for something as Hooch was giving out instructions. “Everyone’s to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves expelled from Hogwarts before they can say Quidditch.”

Meissa shakes her head before noting that her cousin was tossing a Remembrall, snickering mischievously. “Where did he get that?” she asks quietly, rubbing her temple in irritation.

No sooner the second Hooch and Neville were out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

The other Slytherins joined in. Meissa, on the other hand, was fighting off a migraine and was circling the group to find a way to her cousin.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil, one of the Gryffindors.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. “Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Meissa groans softly and palms her face as Draco turns around. That was the worst thing Potter could say to him.

The second she saw him smile nastily she knew he was up to something.

“I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about - up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Once he was high up he called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

“Draco!” the raven haired girl growls in irritation, gripping the handle of the broom tightly as she debated her choices.

But before she could do anything she heard Hermione’s voice. “No! Madam Hooch told us not to move,” she turns to see that the brunette was scolding Harry, “You’ll get us all into trouble.” Meissa opened her mouth to put in her opinion but before she could get a word off he was up in the air

“What an idiot,” Hermione drawls while Meissa was shading her eyes to watch the pair.

“Bloody hell,” she curses softly. “I’m going to strangle that bloody git’s neck if it’s the last thing I do,” she swore to herself.

Holding her breath anxiously when Harry makes a dash for her cousin and caused the blonde to twirl in place. She couldn’t see all too well but it looked like her cousin said something before he hurled something - the Remembrall probably - into the air.

“They’re both idiots,” Hermione mutters quietly, making Meissa smirk in agreement.

“That’s Meissa’s cousin you’re talking about,” she hears a Slytherin hiss at Hermione. “You take that back!”

Meissa’s already dark mood instantly plummets even more when she hears someone use her name to demand respect. Irritated she turns towards the voice to find that it’s her dorm mate - Pansy or something like that.

“You,” she all but snarls as she approaches the brunette.

Before she could get anything out the group around them broke into a cheer and was suddenly rushing somewhere, nearly knocking Meissa off her feet.

Turning her head she sees Harry coming in for a landing, his hand holding a Remembrall in triumph.

“This isn’t done,” she growls at Pansy who pales at the threat, before walking away with Daphne by her right arm.

“Are you okay?” Daphne asks quietly.

Meissa glances at her from the corner of her eye, her posture tense with irritation. “Honestly?” she drawls. “I’m pissed that Parkinson would try to use my family’s name as if it is her right.” Her eyes darken with anger and pride, “She’s not even in the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“Actually, I think she is.”

An even darker look came across her face as a result of Daphne’s comment. “Not in my book,” she all but growls and the blonde wisely let the issue drop.

They had just joined the group when Professor McGonagall calls for Harry in a sharp voice.

“Never in all my time at Hogwarts -”Was Professor McGonagall almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “-How dare you - might have broken your neck -”

“It wasn't his fault, Professor -”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil.”

“But Malfoy -”

“That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

As Harry follows her Draco and his ‘friends’ laughed at his situation until Meissa stepped up to them.

The angry glower on her face quietly had Crabbe and Goyle backing away. Her cousin was quick to notice the absence of his friends/bodyguards and when he looked around he saw exactly what frightened them off.

“Meissa…” his pale face was quickly becoming even paler.

“Of all the harebrained things you could do,” she swore in a low even voice. “You’re lucky that we’re surrounded because I would have your nose in the dirt!”

“Meissa, calm down-.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, little cousin. Or else I will do everything you think I will do,” she threatens, her hand already reaching for her wand.

With the threat hanging between them Draco wisely backs down. Probably aware of how close she is to crossing the line.

“We can finish this later, right?”

She breathes long and slow through her nose before she feels someone’s hand against the small of her back. The warmth of the hand somehow managing to calm her and against her better judgment she lets herself relax. But she did shoot her cousin one last look before walking away from him with Daphne.

“Better?”

“…Not yet. But I am getting there.”

Meissa slows her pace the closer they got to the doors. Daphne kept walking for a moment longer before she turns to look at her. “Meissa?”

Meissa, staring at the woods, made a noise before she turned to Daphne. “Yes?”

“Do you consider me your friend?”

Meissa blinks. “What brought that on?”

Daphne shakes her head and waved her hand in a ‘never mind’ motion - unknowingly provoking Meissa’s ire even more.

The dark haired girl grabs Daphne’s arm and without another word she pulls her away, taking her to a secluded area off the beaten path.

Once they were out of immediate sight of anyone Meissa releases Daphne and starts pacing.

Daphne, unsure of how to handle volatile the Black Heiress, stands back quietly.

“Why would you ask if I consider you a friend?”

“I…” Daphne winces, something that didn’t escape Meissa’s attentive eyes. “Well, I… I thought that…” Meissa crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow at the blonde - she was taking her sweet time in answering. If there’s one thing she inherited from her mother it was her impatience. “I thought that we might be friends.”

Meissa frowns thoughtfully at Daphne, could they be friends?

So far Daphne showed no interest in her surname or her familial ties. She’s shown no interest in furthering her family’s station in the social hierarchy through her. But is that enough to warrant Meissa’s trust in her?

She wanted to say yes, they are friends but she’s been burned so many times by people she thought were her friends that she feels reluctant to confirm this.

“Do you have any ulterior motives?” she asks bluntly, watching the blonde’s expressions to see how she’s going react.

“I do not, but I cannot promise that my family will not try to use me to get through to you.”

A laugh broke through Meissa’s stony silence, appreciating the blonde’s blunt answer.

“Then, I suppose we can be friends,” she answers honestly.

She makes to leave but pauses when something crosses her mind. “Just…” she turns to Daphne who stopped when Meissa started to say something. “Be careful about what you chose, Daphne. I’m not as forgiving about betrayals as I used to be.”

Her one and only warning given she leaves, deciding to forgo lunch and headed straight for the Black Lake.

She might just skip the whole day right now…

~MJB~

“Meissa.”

She blinks, snapped from her thoughts, and turns partially to see who had called for her.

A tall figure, clad in black robes, was approaching her rather quickly causing her to stand as she reached for her wand.

It actually took her another moment to realize that it was the Head of the Slytherin House – Professor Snape.

“Do you intend to use your wand?” he drawls once he was within range to be heard comfortably.

Confused she tilts her head at him before looking down at her hand, finding that she was clutching her 12 ½ inch Blackthorn wand.

“My apologies, professor,” she returns the wand to its holster and crosses her arms protectively over her belly.

“Why are you out here, by the lake?” he inquires, turning his gaze to the before mentioned lake just as a cold wind rushed by them, tugging on their robes.

Meissa stares at him for a moment before mimicking him, resuming her previous activity. “I… I didn’t feel like socializing.”

“Did something happen to trigger your mood?”

“Did something need to happen?”

“I know that for you to retreat into yourself something must have happened.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, aware that Snape is watching her carefully.

“I…I was thinking about them.”

She glances at the potion master and watched his face darken - he knew exactly what she meant.

“What brought up that memory?”

She slides her hands into her pockets, thinking.

Her mind was haunting her again, old memories playing in a constant loop. Sometimes she sees things out of the corner of her eyes, things that shouldn’t be possible anymore. Sometimes she’s hearing it instead of seeing it. Or smelling it. Some days are worse than others. Some days she doesn’t experience anything.

But every day she wished she hadn’t been so trusting.

Hadn’t been such an idiot.

“Something,” she finally answers. “Something and nothing.”

He touches her shoulder and she turns her gaze to look at him. “You should have come to me about this.”

“It was nothing new, Professor,” she mutters.

He opens his mouth to say something but they heard the toll of the bell, alerting them to the fact that it was nearing time for supper.

“You should go,” Snape tells her simply. “Do not skip this meal, Meissa.”

“Yes sir,” she whispers and he searched her eyes before nodding.

She watch him walk away, his robes flaring impressively as he stormed away.

 


	3. Lesson Learned?

Supper passed quickly and Meissa - if pressed to describe it - would not be able to say anything about it.

She hardly bothered with Draco or his friends and she spoke not a word to anyone. Though she had noticed that he and his two friends - Crabbe and Goyle - were up to something, gathered at the Gryffindor’s table. Suspicious of what they might be doing with the Gryffindors - she does have a deal to uphold after all - she makes a mental note to corner her cousin later.

She had actually been prepared to retire to bed without another incident had it not been the fact she overheard Pansy Parkinson gripe loudly about how she didn't appreciate the Black name being defended.

With the reminder of her earlier anger it came back with a vengeance.

Her wand in hand she returns her cauldron to its proper size and summoned her potion kit, curiosity of her godfather. Remembering everything he had taught her she starts the first step of brewing her potions.

It took her a moment to remember the spell she wanted to use but she did transfigure a quill she wasn’t too attached to into a cauldron. Within minutes she had the potions brewing and she was splitting her time evenly between the two. She made sure that she was adding the necessary ingredients to the right potions.

She was actually nearly done when the door to the room opened and Daphne stepped in, pausing when their eyes met.

“Um… do I want to know?” Daphne inquires as she shuts the door behind her.

“It’s up to you if you do want to know,” Meissa replies, uncaring if Daphne disagreed with her actions.

“Um… What are you brewing? And are you sure you can brew whatever it is you’re brewing?”

“I was taught by the very best,” Meissa answers simply, her tone short.

“And… what is it you’re brewing?” she repeats.

“Volubilis,” she points at one cauldron, “Befuddlement.”

Daphne crossed the room, carefully moving pass the cauldrons and their open flames, and sat on her bed.

“Aren’t those 7th year potions?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders, she never thought about whether the potions she was brewing would be considered difficult or hard to brew. She just chose the potions she wanted and started brewing. Without a care for the rules.

“So who is this meant for?”

“You’re smart, I’m sure you can figure out who this is meant for.”

Daphne sighs, shaking her head. “Meissa…”

“You’re not going to be able to convince me to leave this be.”

“Embarrassing her could make the situation worse.”

Meissa glances at her just as she was adding the final ingredients.

“She needs to learn that I won’t let her speak for my name. And that I won’t tolerate her attempts to further her family’s status.”

“You’re obsessed with that.”

Meissa doesn’t say anything at first but once she doused the flames she sat back and stared at Daphne. With that one sentence Meissa started thinking about before.

Wordlessly she grabs two empty and clean vials and filled them, pressing the stoppers in place before stashing them into her trunk. The remaining brew she vanished instead of bothering to put in vials. She doesn’t believe it would be necessary for her to have to repeat the experience for Pansy to learn her lesson.

Though if she proved to be as dense as she appears, well, she’ll just have to find a better form of punishment for the girl.

She was about to turn in for the night when she remembered that she wanted to talk to her cousin about what he was doing at supper. So she grabs her shoes and makes to leave, ignoring or not caring that Daphne had asked her where she was going.

When she didn’t find the platinum blonde in the common room she went up to his room and entered without knocking. Catching him as he was changing she pushes him onto the bed and crosses her arms.

“Out with it, what did you do,” she glowers at him.

“What makes you think I did anything?” he tries to ask innocently.

“One, you’re talking to me. Two, I saw you talking to Harry. So I know you’re up to something and I want to know.”

He rolls his eyes at her as he pulls his shirt on properly. “If you must know, I arranged for them to meet me for a Wizard Duel in the Trophy room.”

“What!” she makes a grab for him but got nothing but air when he ducked out of the way. She made another grab but stopped when she noticed that he wasn’t wearing clothes for a duel. In fact, he looked ready to turn in for the night.

“You have no intention of meeting them,” she mumbles quietly to herself, her mind working double time.

Draco scoffs, “Why would I?”

She knew her cousin, knew him quite well. He hates Harry and Ron for the slights on the train. She knew that which is why she made the deal with them  in the first place - though she would change it in a heartbeat now that she knew who Harry really is.

Which means…she makes a face as she realizes what he had done and left the room in a hurry, her robes bellowing after her. She was out of the dormitory within seconds and was well on her way to the trophy room.

She needed to get to them before a Professor finds them.

~MJB~

Meissa was walking quickly to the Trophy room, aware that it was getting late and she ran the risk of being caught by one of the professors or even Filch. But she needed to get Harry out of the situation her cousin had put him in. Not to mention she had made a deal.

She rounds the corner to the Trophy room on the third floor, her wand in hand in case someone is jumpy.

“Malfoy, it’s about time you showed up,” she hears someone say - probably Harry.

“It’s me, Meissa.”

“What are you doing here?” Ron hisses.

“My cousin set you up,” the raven haired girl replies as she walks over to them, glancing around the room. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the low moonlight that shone through the night. Once she was close enough to be able to whisper without difficulties she noticed with a surprise that Harry had an entourage. It wasn’t just Ron with him but also Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger.

She wanted to ask the Gryffindor girl why she had come along when there was a noise in the next room that made them jump. Harry was raising his wand when she grabs his hand, shaking her head furiously.

They needed to get out, now.

“Move,” she whispers.

“Sniff around, my sweet,” They heard someone whisper as she ushered the Gryffindors away. It was Filch speaking to his cat, most likely. “They might be lurking in a corner.”

“They’re in here somewhere,” she hear him mutter, “probably hiding.”

There was a shuffling noise and she realizes with a sinking dread that he was getting closer to them. “Go!” she hisses as low as possible, gesturing for them to get moving.

Wand in hand she stayed to the rear of the group, keeping an eye out for Filch to cast a quick confundo if needed. But her pace was much faster than the one the group was keeping and she was just turning around when suddenly she hears a frightened squeak. Out of the corner of her eye she sees someone break into a run before tripping, knocking into Ron.

Before anyone could try something the boys knocked into a suit of armor and the resulting clash of noise was enough to wake the dead.

A pounding migraine in her temples she turns towards the group just as Harry yelled, “RUN!”

She scoops mid-run to help the boys to their feet before giving them a shove in the direction of the others. In a dead run she follows the group in the near darkness of the corridors, her heart pounding in tandem with her migraine as she kept up with them.

A hidden passageway later they emerged near the Charms classroom on the third floor - still - and stopped. Meissa runs her hand through her hair, panting as she slumps against a wall.

“I think we’ve lost him,” she hears Harry pant, doing the same as her. Neville was somewhere around, wheezing and spluttering.

“I-told-you,” Hermione gasps and when Meissa looks at her she saw that she was clutching her chest, probably at a stitch. “I - told - you.”

“We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” Ron points out, “Quickly as possible.” Though he did give Meissa a glare to say - you’re not invited. Just as well.

“Meissa,” Hermione turns to Harry, “How did you know about the Duel?”

“I saw my cousin talking to Harry,” she shakes her head as she ties her hair back. “I know him too well. Thought he might be up to something. Looked like I was right.” Harry had a look on his face that said that Hermione had tried to tell him that this wasn’t going to go well but it was also a look that told her he was never going to admit to being wrong.

“Let’s go.”

Meissa pushes away from the wall and made to follow them away from the third floor - she wanted to make sure they get to their tower - even if it meant leaving the group a bit early since she has no desire to learn their secret entrance nor would they be willing to risk her learning it.

But before they went too far a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of the classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves and before she could cast a spell to conceal them he caught sight of them. With a merry cackle he grins impishly at them. “Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties?” he drawls as Meissa edges her way to the front of the group. “Tut, tut, tut,” he clucks his tongue as if scolding them. “Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Peeves,” she greets in a clipped tone, getting his attention immediately.

“Oh my, a snake with the lions?” he started to laugh loudly, getting shushes from the Gryffindors behind her.

“Peeves, let us by and I’ll tell you of a prank you can use,” she tries to bargain.

He appeared to think about it. “Mm… Should tell Filch, I should,” he remarks, his eyes glinting wickedly. She needed better bait. 

“I could tell you of the night terrors of a First year,” she tries and this one gets his attention.

But before any agreement could be met someone lost their patience.

“Get out of the way!” Ron snapped, taking a swipe at Peeves.

“No!” It was too late.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

“Run!” she yells, ducking under Peeves.

She ran until she saw a door up ahead. “Get to the door!” she yells at the others before she stops to guard their rear.

Behind her someone almost wail desperately, “This is it!” It was Ron. “We’re done for! This is the end!” Meissa could hear footsteps approaching - it had to been Filch and he was running straight for Peeves.

“Oh move over!” Hermione practically snarled. She grabs her wand, tapped the lock and whispered, ‘Alohomora!’ (1)

Meissa heard the distinctive click of a lock becoming undone and ran for the door just as Hermione hissed for her. Her hand grabbed the knob and she shuts it just as she was through. Panting she leaned against the wood as Hermione pressed her ear against it.

When she had the chance to breathe again she took in their surroundings and almost instantly saw something that made the corridor forbidden in the first place.

Breathless she stares as everyone besides her pressed against the door.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be okay - get off Neville! What?”

“Shh!” Meissa hissed just as Harry turned around.

Meissa was staring into the eyes of a monstrous three headed dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It was something she recognized from old stories - a Cerberus, a hellhound with three heads and each head with its own distinctive personality. 

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them though their growls were vibrating through the stone and she could see that any advantage they had was very quickly vanishing. Meissa, closest to the doorknob, quickly patted the door behind her for it and just as the dogs lunged their heads forward the door gave way underneath them, causing them to fall backwards and out of harms’ way.

Together they jumped back up and shoved at the door to try and prevent the dog from getting at least one of their heads through. But the hellhound had a leverage and strength they were lacking in so Meissa grabbed her wand and fired off a conjunctivitis curse. (2)

A loud yelp resounded in the air and the push was gone instantly, allowing them to push the door shut. “Colloportus!” she growls quickly, locking the door once more. (3)

Panting she turned to find that the others have already started running and gave chase until they were at the stairs. Once she saw them take the nearest stairs to the higher levels she turns and headed straight for the dungeons. She needed to get back to her dormitory and she wanted to drink her migraine potion before it got too worse.

~MJB~

Meissa was silent at breakfast and her plate contained the barest minimal amount of food necessary to hold her over until lunch. If she could be bothered to eat.

Her appetite has been... well, absent lately. She hadn’t been interested in eating and when she tried it felt like she was eating something with an ashy taste.

But when she spotted Pansy taking a seat by her cousin Draco she perked up, sharing a look with Daphne who glanced between Pansy and her. Meissa could see that Daphne didn’t quite approve but so far the blonde made no move to warn Pansy of her impending lesson.

She nibbles at her fruit, fighting to keep from smirking.

She was getting way too excited by the prospects of what’s coming up causing her to use the trick her godfather taught her when she was younger. It helped a lot but she always had to remember that she couldn’t lock away her emotions forever - as much as she would love to.

She using the Occlumency pools her godfather taught her she slides her emotions away from her.

“Meissa?”

“Almost,” she replies before Daphne could ask.

She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Pansy took a long drink of her pumpkin juice.

She distracts herself by nibbling on the handful green grapes and just as she was reaching for more, Pansy opened her mouth to say something to Draco. Except, when she tried to talk she brayed like a donkey.

The loud clamor of the Great Hall died as everyone registered the loud braying noise while Pansy looked horrified.

Meissa couldn’t help the snickers she had over Pansy’s humiliation, more than a little bit amused. She watched Pansy try to explain or excuse herself but the more she tried to talk the worse it was. She was actually rotating through different animal sounds.

By this point everyone had broken into laughter over her misfortune while the Heads of the Houses were trying to restore order. Meissa had a hand pressed firmly to her lips, her eyes dancing with joy while Daphne was laughing just as much.

“Who did this,” Snape questions as Pansy sobbed, quacking as she blubbered.

She quickly roped her amusement together and tossed it deep into the pool but when she looked at Daphne she saw that she wasn’t quite capable of doing the same. She also saw the way Pansy’s eyes narrowed angrily at Daphne.

“Well?”

No one says anything. Even under his dark gaze promising punishment not one person spoke up to confess.

Meissa was quick to get bored with watching the situation unfold and started sipping her pumpkin juice. Snape, when he saw that he wasn’t going to get an answer, administered an antidote. Knowing Snape, he would be able to identify the potion from the symptoms the girl had exhibited. But she also reasoned that he wouldn’t have known to expect this so he would be carrying an antidote capable of treating a broad amount of potions.

“If the culprit turned themselves in tonight before midnight I promise that there will be no expulsion for this morning’s antics,” he declared coldly before he returned to his seat.

Meissa hummed, thinking. Daphne hissed to catch Meissa’s attention.

“You should,” Daphne whispers.

“Why? I had no part in it,” Meissa retorts.

Daphne narrows her eyes at the Black Heiress before she shook her head. She couldn’t quite figure out the raven haired girl but she knew that she probably shouldn’t interfere with Meissa’s fun.

“Hey,” Meissa calls her attention, her dark eyes glancing at Pansy who had sat down and was now eating.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready for class?”

“You’re not staying?”

“Why? There’s nothing here for us.”

“Really?” Meissa nods her head as she finishes the rest of her pumpkin juice. “Oh, okay then,” Daphne finishes off her toast and stood.

Without another word they walked out of the hall, ignoring or not caring about the fact that Pansy was glaring at them as they left.

~MJB~

“How did you manage to cause her to mimic different animals?” Daphne asks her quietly while they were waiting for their classmates to join them and for Professor McGonagall to start class.

“It wasn’t too hard,” Meissa shrugged, “The potion is useful for changing the voice. Since I brewed it, I could choose what noise she makes.”

“Remind me to not piss you off.”

Meissa laughs, “That would be a brilliant idea.”

Daphne shakes her head.

“Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

Meissa props her head on her fist, seemingly studying Daphne. “I cannot think of one.”

Daphne shakes her head in disbelief, “It’s going to be trial and error with you.”

“But of course.”

Meissa smirks at the look of disbelief on Daphne’s face but before either of them could say anything the door opened. Curious Meissa looks pass Daphne to see that Hermione had come to class early.

“Good morning, Granger,” she greets the witch, ignoring the questioning look Daphne was giving her.

“Oh, Meissa,” Hermione smiles at her, “Good morning.” She then adopted a curious, worried, look and Meissa had a suspicion about what she might ask. “Did you…” she trails off, unsure how to ask. “Did you get back to your dormitory last night without trouble?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

Hermione smiles brightly before she moved to sit near them but stopped when Daphne made a noise.

Meissa catches the noise and looks sharply at the blonde, her dark eyes impossibly darker. “Is there a problem?” she practically hisses

“She’s a -.”

“A witch. Just like you and me.”

“But she’s -.”

Meissa stood suddenly, startling Daphne into silence.

“She is a witch, Daphne. Nothing more, nothing less,” she bites out angrily. “She could be a great and brilliant witch, stronger than any witch in history.” Angry she turns away and moves to leave Daphne and sit somewhere.

“Wait, Meissa, I’m sorry!” Daphne tries to stop her from leaving, grabbing Meissa’s wrist. “I just don’t-.”

“I don’t care for the social restraints of our families, Daphne,” Meissa cuts her off. “It is because of the pureblood’s arrogance that he was able to raise to power and our families fell under his sway.”

Disgust colored Meissa’s words as she shook off Daphne’s grasp, “Precious people, lost because of one man’s senseless need for revenge.”

“Meissa…” Hermione whispers, reaching for the Black Heiress’ arm, sensing that something is wrong with the girl.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling terribly good anymore,” Meissa mutters as she shakes off Hermione’s hand. “Do tell Professor McGonagall that I’ll be by to pick up today’s homework.”

“Meissa you can’t go skipping classes all the time,” Daphne tries to protest.

Meissa shakes her head and simply left instead of staying like they insisted.

~MJB~

Meissa stares blankly at the calm surface of the lake. Her eyes’ distant as she sat there, occasionally she would flick her wand to skip a levitated pebble across the surface.

Occasionally her fingers would begin to twitch, her eyes becoming unfocused as she lost herself into a memory. Her hands would begin to tremble violently the longer she stayed lost in her memory until she forced herself to come out of it.

Each time her magic would lash out violently, the water boiling as the grass around her turned brown. She bit at a knuckle, fighting to stay in the moment. To push through the memories of the past and hating herself for letting it happen to her.

“Meissa.”

She glances over her shoulder, grimacing when she realizes that it’s Hermione.

“What is it?” she mutters quietly.

“Um… I didn’t see you at all today,” she hears Hermione comment before she sat down next to her.

Meissa props her head up with her fist, finding it hard to focus or even fake it. “I’ve been here,” she replies, skipping the pebbles again.

“Is it even a good idea to skip classes two days in a row?” Hermione asks as she searches through her school bag.

“I don’t really care,” Meissa replies tonelessly.

“But you… don’t you care about graduating?”

Meissa stares blankly at the Gryffindor, absentmindedly biting her thumb. “That’s seven years away,” she mutters before Hermione presents a biscuit. “What is this?”

“Um… food?”

She blinks repeatedly, looking between the offered food and Hermione before she takes it with mumbled thanks. 

“So… why are you out here?” Hermione asks as Meissa took small bites of the cold but still delicious biscuit.

“It’s better to be here than destroying a room,” she answers quietly.

“Is it truly that bad?”

Meissa doesn’t answer at first, breaking a piece of the biscuit off before she eats it.

By the time she’s ready to answer someone called out her name.

The girls turned to find that Snape was approaching them. He did not look please.

“You best get going now,” Meissa mutters as she stood. Offering a hand up before she urges for Hermione to go on without her.

“Will you be okay?” Hermione asks, hesitating.

“Okay or not it’s best for you to leave now,” Meissa mutters.

“Will you start going to class again?”

“If I say yes will you go?” Hermione nods, prompting Meissa to sigh. “Then yes, I will start.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hermione agrees before she moved quickly to return to Hogwarts’ safety.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1) **Alohomora** \- unlocking spell  
>  2) **Conjunctivitis curse** \- eye inflammation  
>  3) **Colloportus** \- locking spell


	4. The Storm Within

After Hermione left Meissa faced Snape, slipping her hands into her pockets.

“Did I not tell you to start attending your classes?”

“When did you say something like that?” Snape narrows his eyes at her, warning her to not test his temper. “Sorry…”

“Why have you been skipping classes, and meals for that matter?” he narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “Have you been taking your potions?” Meissa looks away from her professor, refusing to answer but in doing so he confirmed his suspicions.” Why would you stop? You know how important the potions are for your health.”

“I… I just hate how it makes me feel,” she confess quietly.

“Then you should’ve told me, Meissa. I would have adjusted the doses.”

Meissa doesn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to cross her arms and hug herself.

“I just… want to be normal.”

“You can never be normal, not if you don’t take your potions like you’re supposed to.”

“I’ve been taking them for two years! When can I stop?”

“If you actually took them regularly and made an effort,” Snape reminds her, taking a step back when the grass around her began to die.

“No! I’m sick and tired of the constant potions!” she screams before she starts to pace, anxiously biting her thumb. Her breathing coming in short pants.

“I understand that Meissa, I do. But I also want you to get to a point where these potions will not be necessary,” Snape tells her calmly. “In order for that to happen, Meissa, you need to take the potions regularly.”

He watches her agitation grow as the girl hugged herself, her pacing quickening.

“Just six more months, Meissa. Six more months of your daily potions and then we can cut it back every week.”

“You said that last time!”

“Meissa, the only reason why you’re still on your potions is because you stopped taking them right at the crucial point,” he gently reminds her.

“I just want to be myself again,” she whispers before she shakes her head. “No, I can’t… I can’t be that girl again. She was weak, pathetic.”

He frowns worriedly when she switched to third person speaking. “Meissa, when was the last time you took your potions?” he asks worriedly.

“Yesterday? No, no it was the day before.”

He closes his eyes and presses a hand to his forehead. He knew what that meant for the young girl and he suspects that she knew as well.

“Meissa…”

She looks blankly at him and he sighs. “Come with me. Perhaps we can salvage this.” He turns and makes his way to a side entrance, sparing only one look over his shoulder to see if the girl was following him.

~MJB~

Meissa was smiling and talking with Daphne, the dark mood she had been experiencing gone as if it was a bad dream. Daphne, unsure of how to handle the mood swings, decided to take things as it happened.

“Oh,” Meissa nudges Daphne and subtly tilted her head towards Pansy who was eating without a care in the world. Clearly the incident with her pumpkin juice was a thing of the past.

“What is it?”

Meissa smirks mischievously at her and instantly Daphne knew that whatever it was, it was probably related to the potions she had been brewing the other night.

“Won’t you get into trouble with Professor Snape?” she whispers, ducking her head close.

“That’s if he can figure out who the culprit is,” Meissa whispers back.

“I don’t know, he’s a Potion Master. I think he could figure it out fairly easily.”

She gets shushed by the raven haired girl and while trying not to be obvious the two of them watched Pansy for a moment and it looked like nothing was going to happen when all of the sudden the brunette started knocking things over.

To the girl’s growing mortification she couldn’t stop knocking things over and unfortunately she knocked over a pitcher of pumpkin juice, causing the thick juice to spill over into Draco’s lap. There were other victims, of course, but Pansy’s fair face went bright red as Draco jumped to his feet. Exclaiming loudly as he shook his clothes to rid of the excess.

Meissa snickered quietly to herself before getting up to rescue her cousin’s clothes.

“Let me get that for you, Draco,” she clasps him on his back as she effortlessly slides her wand free from its holster.

“You look far too amused to not be part of this,” he mutters as she waved her wand, vanishing the juice and the stains into oblivion.

She smirks at him. “Dearest cousin, if I was part of this little stunt, I think you would find my signature all over it.” She puts away her wand and presents her hands. “Now does it look like I was involved?”

He narrows his eyes at her, suspicious but instinctively knew that he had no proof of her wrong doing.

“If you were part of this,” he starts off, his voice low, “Then stop. You know that Pansy is my friend.”

“You have poor tastes in friends then dearest cousin,” she retorts with a subtle eye roll.

“Wouldn’t you say that having friends is better than having none?” he inquires, curious and meaning nothing deep by the question.

So he was startled when her eyes darkened at him and he found himself staring into a pit of despair and anger.

“No,” Meissa replies, her voice practically flat.” Having poor friends is, in fact, worse than having no friends.”

“But,” he stops when she narrowed her eyes at him in warning.

“Friends are people you can rely on forever to watch your back. A friend shouldn’t be able to backstab you at the slightest opportunity,” she whispers. “Or use you to their advantage.”

She watch his face twitch in pain, registering that he was feeling pain but just stood there watching it until his fingers brushed against her arm.

Startled by the touch she looked to find that her knuckles were white, her fingers digging into his shoulder. She stared blankly at her hand before she forces herself to release him, flexing her fingers experimentally.

“What’s wrong with you,” he whispers quietly.

She continues flexing her fingers before she looks at him. “When I find out,” she starts tonelessly, “You’ll be the first to know.”

She glances at Daphne before she walks away, leaving her supper half finished. Her appetite lost once more.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the library the following morning, catching up on her homework for the two days she had skipped. Some of the things she knew already from her godfather teaching her during the summers when she stayed with him.

Other things, such as the materials regarding Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts were easy for reasons she rather not think about - though the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was annoying with his constant stuttering.

What was his name again…?

Meissa pulls on the ends of her hair, trying to recall the irritating professor’s name.

“Meissa?”

She looks up and found that Hermione was standing at the other side of the table, looking at her in curiosity.

“Ello Hermione,” she greets.

“Hello.” The Gryffindor gestures to the chair across from her, prompting Meissa to nod for her to sit. “How are you today?” she inquires.

Meissa actually had to think about that. She felt okay but was her version of okay actually okay?

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“Do you not know how you feel today?” Hermione asks quietly.

The raven haired girl tilts her head. “I think it would be safe to say that I never feel normal.” She glances back down at her paper for History of Magic and scribbles a quick line while it was in her mind.

“Is that even possible?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders, not really caring if it was possible or not. Her life was filled with things others have told her to be odd but she found to be a fact of her life.

“Hermione,” she mutters after going quiet to focus on her paper. Her handwriting illegible as it lengthened out into a scrawl.

“Yes?”

“I…  Well, I…”

Meissa shook her head and went quiet, writing her paper.

“Meissa, what did you want to say?”

Meissa tugs on the ends of her hair, nibbling on her lip.

“…I… You… Can you… teach me?”

“Teach you? What do you want me to teach you?”

“I…” Meissa ducks her head as she fiddles with the quill, the ink staining her fingertips. “Can you teach me to be normal?”

Hermione blinks, surprised and more than a little be stunned that Meissa would ask for help to appear normal.

“Why do you want to seem normal?” she asks, curious and more than bit worried. “I like you for who you are.”

“Then you would be the only one,” Meissa mutters.

Hermione frowns in concern.

“Meissa, do you by chance happen to hate yourself?”

Meissa stares at Hermione for a long moment before she looks away. Her ink stained fingers tracing out shapes Hermione couldn’t figure out.

When the raven haired girl made no effort to answer Hermione’s question the Gryffindor reached across and grabbed her hands. Startled and not expecting to be touched Meissa nearly jerks her hand away.

“Why?” Hermione asks quietly, “Why would you hate yourself?” She stares into equally brown eyes, searching them until the other girl looks away. “Oh Meissa, why would you believe that?”

Meissa fidgets and Hermione quickly realizes that the girl was beginning to behave like a caged animal, causing her to let her go.

“Can you teach me?” Meissa mutters quietly.

Hermione gnaws on her lower lip before sighing. “No.”

The raven haired girl looks at her in disappointment before she refocuses on the paper in front of her, seeing for the first time what she was drawing. She quickly tears the parchment apart, agitated by what she had drawn.

“Meissa?”

She looks up just as she was shredding the parchment into tiny pieces.

“What are you doing?”

“… There are… runes. Runes can… protect, strengthen, weaken, or destroy,” Meissa whispers as she separates the pieces into two piles.

“And you know how to use them?” Hermione asks in awe.

“Yes. There are books in my family home filled with runes and their intended uses. One wrong line and a protection circle becomes an entrapment circle.”

“That’s… dangerous,” Hermione mutters thoughtfully.

“It is,” Meissa agrees, pushing one of the piles to Hermione. “When you can, toss those into the fireplace. Burn them.”

“What did you draw onto them?” Hermione asks, curious.

Meissa thinks about it for a moment before sighing. She grabs another sheet of parchment. “I will not draw what I had before. But I am willing to teach you the basics, if you wish.”

Hermione leans forward in curiosity and watched Meissa sketch out five different runes.

“Fire,” she points to the first one, represented by single unbroken yet zigzagging line forming a strange figure eight with legs. “Water.” This one was a crescent moon, the two points meeting a single vertical line. “Earth.” A circle with a vertical line bisecting it with a slight flourish before it enters the circle. “Air.” Two parallel lines and a single squiggly line crossing the two. “Protection.” Another two parallel lines, this time horizontal, and what appeared to be an upside down pyramid with the point cut off by the bottom most line.

She had arranged the four element runes in a diamond around the protection rune.

“With a bit of magic,” she whispers as she slides the parchment over to the amazed Gryffindor, “Any witch or wizard can use this. They just need to draw it right.”

“What does this do?” Hermione asks out of curiosity, studying the runes.

“Fire to protect and destroy the danger to your life. Water for intuition for any and all danger to your life. Earth for stability and practicality. And Air for intellect and reason,” Meissa taps the fifth rune in the center. “This rune ties the four elements together and draws out the positive aspects of the four elements.”

Hermione nods her head in understanding before she has a question. “So, if a different rune was here…?”

Meissa frowns. “If a different rune was used instead of Tutela,” she starts in a soft voice, “It’s likely the darker side of each elements would be used.” She rubs her chin in thought before she snaps her fingers. “Contritio.”

“What?”

“Destruction,” she translates easily now that she could remember the world.

“Oh…”

Meissa shook her head. “Anyway, put this by your bed,” she tells the Gryffindor. “Or put it somewhere with your personal things. So long it is close to something that is yours the magic will protect you.”

“Really?”

Meissa merely nods as she picks up her quill again, turning her attention to the paper she was supposed to be writing. But Hermione could spy a slight tinge of red in her cheeks, figuring that the other girl must be feeling shy or embarrassed to want to drop the conversation instead of reveling in it.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she tucks the parchment away.

Meissa’s lip twitch into a brief smile before she ducks her head back down and scribbled something on her paper.

~MJB~

It must be close to nightfall - and curfew - when Meissa straightens her back, a low satisfied groan escaping her lips when various pops were heard. The tension gone she gives her homework a once over.

She couldn’t find anything wrong with what she had written - though she does make a note to find more books on history. Anything was better than listening to Professor Binns’ droning voice in class. It was enough to give her a migraine if she doesn’t fall asleep first.

After going through the parchments and correcting any errant letter she takes a look around for the first time since Hermione left for lunch. It was deadly quiet in the library with nearly everyone gone and of course Madam Pince demanded absolute silence anyway.

Tired and dreading to know what her cousin may have been up to while she was in the library doing her homework she packs up her things. It was high time she returned to the Slytherin dormitory anyway.

After she had gathered up everything, and double checked herself, she left the library. Fully aware that she’s cutting it fairly close since she still had to walk clear across Hogwarts to reach the grand staircase and from there the common room to the Slytherin dormitory.

She was actually making her way through the corridors when she hears a familiar voice. She couldn’t quite place it but there was something about it that had her screwing her face in dislike. Standing at the corner she wondered if she wanted or needed to find out who was just around the bend.

After a moment she decided that she didn’t need to and continued walking. She turns down the corridor with the classrooms normally used for charms and had nearly put the voice out of her mind when she heard something.

“Leave me alone,” a defiant and most definitely recognizable voice demands.

She immediately stopped and pressed a hand to her face, thinking to herself - of course, who else could it be. She drops her things down, her bag barely making a noise, and briskly walked back to the bend she had ignored. Just as she was turning around she draws her wand. Her eyes narrowing instantly when she sees that Parkinson had Hermione cornered with Bulstrode with her.

The bigger girl didn’t even have her wand out - a slight Meissa couldn’t stand for - and with a growl Meissa storms forward. “Flipendo!” The spell knocks Millicent away from the Gryffindor before she turns to face Pansy, standing protectively in front of Hermione. (1)

“What can I do you for,” Meissa ask, her voice barely casual as she eyes the girls. Her jinx hadn’t knocked Millicent down for long and she could see that the girl was more than a little bit irritated.

As her father’s potential magical heir Meissa knew that she could have her work cut out for her. But tonight, she was just plain ol’ Millicent Bulstrode and she can handle that.

“This has nothing to do with you, Black,” Bulstrode snaps as she dusted off her robes.

“Perhaps not,” she agrees. “But I have issues with Parkinson so I feel obligated to interrupt.” She smirks at the furious look in Pansy’s face.

“You’re a blood traitor!” Parkinson threw at her face.

Meissa growls as she stood to her entire height - moving quickly to back the other girl against the wall, her wand aimed carefully at Bulstrode to keep her out. “You be careful what you say to me Parkinson,” she all but snarls. “One drop of my blood is worth so much more than what you possess!”

“I’m a pureblood too!” Pansy gasps as Meissa squeezes her hand around her throat, “One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!”

Meissa cackles loudly as she gives another tight squeeze before shoving the girl away from her. “Not in my book,” she sneers after the girl. “Your family will never be welcomed into mine!” she yells after them.

“Meissa?”

The Black Heiress stares down the corridor where she had seen the girls ran, lost in her thoughts and unaware that someone had called her name.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?” She rubs her eyes as she registered her name. Exhausted and more than ready to turn in for the night she turns to the speaker to find that Hermione was staring at her wide eyed.

“Meissa, are you okay?” she hears the Gryffindor ask.

“Mm, why do you ask?”

“I… Well, I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Meissa was still clearing her mind when she heard Hermione say that. When the words register in her mind she looks at the Gryffindor and saw for the first time her concern.

“My apologies,” Meissa mutters as she slides her wand back into place, “I… I didn’t mean for you to see that.” She tugs idly on her ear, feeling insecure, “I… Sorry.”

“What happened,” Hermione asks, touching the girl’s arm slightly.

Meissa twitched under the touch but she didn’t move away like she normally would have done though her hands did tremble.

“I… Parkinson just makes me so… mad,” Meissa confesses quietly. “I just…” she sighs as she press a hand to her face, she didn’t know how to answer this. “I hate people who try to use my family name to further their own station.” She turns around and walks back to her things with Hermione following her. “Parkinson’s family is a small pureblood family - parasites.”

“Isn’t parasites a bit of a… harsh word to use?”

“If the shoe fit,” Meissa mutters distractedly as she slings her bag onto her shoulder.

“Okay, but this still doesn’t explain your reaction.”

“It’s two things then,” Meissa remarks. “One: she’s using Draco’s family to further her station. Two: she was bullying you.”

Hermione smiles and slipped her hand into Meissa’s, getting a twitch but again the Black heiress didn’t pull her hand free. “Thank you for caring.”

The other girl coughs and shuffles but doesn’t say anything and when Hermione looks at her she saw that there was a rosy blush on her face. Hermione decides to say nothing, content in the knowledge that the other girl cares enough to defend her from the other Slytherins.

~MJB~

Meissa sat in one of the armchairs, her legs curled up beneath her as she stares into the fire. She was so far into her own thoughts she didn’t hear or see the things happening around her.

It was probably close to midnight when someone came up the stairs and sat down across from her, patiently waiting for her to notice them. Another thirty minute passed before she turned her gaze over to the blonde.

“What are you doing up?” she asks.

“Funny, I was going to ask you that.”

She rolls her eyes at him and shifts in her seat to move her legs, wincing at the tingly feeling in her legs. “Answer the question.”

“Pansy told me about what happened on the third floor.”

“What about it.”

“Why were you defending a Gryffindor?”

“Why are you interested.”

Draco gives her a sharp look that told her that he wanted answers and he didn’t want her to keep walking him into circles.

She rolls her eyes at him and lowers her legs to the ground, adjusting herself so that she could face him easily if push came to shove.

“I don’t care for any sorts of bullying,” she tells him simply, narrowing her eyes at him. She knew that he’s been ragging on Harry and his friends lately - the Magical Duel was just the latest of the various attempts to get the Boy-Who-Lived into trouble.

“Knocking my friend around is still bullying, Meissa.”

She looks sharply at him, her eyes blazing with anger. But he didn’t back down, meeting her eyes straight on despite the possibility of her using Legilimency on him.

“Leave the Gryffindors alone and then maybe we wouldn’t have these issues.”

“They’re Gryffindors!”

“Like I give a damn about who they are! Leave them alone.”

She stands up and without another word she heads down to the girl’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1) **Flipendo** \- knockback curse


	5. Missing Time

Meissa came to with a start, jerking awake with her eyes flying wildly around to take in her surroundings. It took her a moment to realize that she was in the dormitory, fully dressed with her shoes still on.

Confused by why she's in bed and at a lost as to what's going on, she sits up. The world started to swim at the motion, forcing her to hold a hand to her forehead as if it could ward off a headache. What had happened to her?

Wincing as the dull lights causes her headache to worsen she pats around her for her wand when she discovers that it's not stashed away in its' holster. She searched along the bedcover before she gives up trying to find it by hand.

“Accio wand,” she murmurs quietly and was surprised when her wand flied to her from underneath the dresser by her bed. Wondering why her wand would be underneath there she grips the handle. (1)

“Tempus revelare,” she mutters and she was surprised to find that it was still early. It wasn't late enough for supper but it was late enough that classes for the day was done. But she couldn't remember the trip back from the East Wing. (2)

“What happened,” she whispers to herself before she stood up, stumbling slightly before she managed to find her footing and left the room.

A short trip up to the Common Room revealed that it was a mess - there were scorch marks here and there from spell impacts and there were signs of a fight. Looking around she couldn't see why it looked like there was a fight. Or why no effort to clean it up had been made.

She takes a look about but when she doesn't see Draco - or any of his cronies - she wonders where he would have gone. She wanted to ask about where he had gone but anyone she made eye contacts with were quick to duck their heads or look away.

Confused as to what's going on she leaves the common room. When she looks around she saw nothing unusual other than the usual gloom of the dungeons so she picks a random direction and started walking. If the Slytherins were going to stare at her strangely until she met their eyes then she'd rather walk the dungeons or even the whole of Hogwarts instead of being the object of their whispers.

“What would you do, mum,” she mutters quietly to herself as she walked. She knew the reputation of her family. Some say that her family is full of wackos - her mother, Bellatrix, was renowned for her skills in the Wizarding war and for her insanity on the field.

Her great-grandfather once told her that every member of the Black family had a touch of insanity running through their veins. That it was a price to be paid for their affiliation for Dark magic. She didn't know for sure herself since she hadn't made an effort to learn any of the family's dark spells. But she knew that there were plenty of spells in the Black library, in the books.

She didn't know if she wanted to learn the Dark magic her family was known for. It wasn't something her grandfather had demanded she learn but then again he hadn't been involved in her life all that much.

Encouraged to find her own path maybe but he hadn't been interested in raising her in the Black traditions.

She didn't know why he was so interested in her breaking the traditions - she half expected someone to blast her off the tapestry but after Grandpa Pollux passed away she came to realize that there weren't many members left with the Black name.

If there was any left they were probably married into another family which meant that their descendants would never have the family name and they would never be taught to take pride in their name and their ancestry as a Black.

“Meissa,” she hears someone call her attention and she looks towards the source to find that it was Hermione. Judging from the books in her hand she was just coming back from the library. “What are you doing on the seventh floor?”

Meissa looks around for the first time since she started walking, surprised that she had managed to walk this far without running into trouble. “Um… I haven't the slightest idea.”

“Are you ok?”

She thinks this one over. She still has no idea how her classes ended. She barely remembered what was covered in Transfiguration and that was the last class of the day.

“I think so,” she finally answers, running a hand through her hair to take it out of her face. She looks at Hermione and sees that she's struggling to hold her books. “Here, let me help you with that before you drop one of them.” She takes half of the books in her grasp without waiting for a confirmation and didn't get a complaint. They both knew what would happen if a book was to even get the tiniest bit scuffed.

“Thank you,” Hermione smiles brilliantly at her. “So, back on the topic of you being on the seventh floor.”

Meissa rolls her eyes. “I already said I don't know why I'm up here.”

“Well is something bothering you?”

“Um… Did you see me do anything odd during Transfiguration?”

“Odd how?”

“Anything,” Meissa mutters as she averts her eyes.

“Meissa, what's going on?”

“I don't… I don't remember much about what happened before the last bell.”

Hermione looked sharply at the Black heiress at what she just said, “Nothing at all?”

“Um…”

The raven-haired girl frowns as she bites on her knuckle, thinking.

There was a spell…

“Didn't we practice transfiguring a match into a needle?” She sees Hermione nod her head.

“Do you remember how that went?”

“... You did excellent, you always do… I got it right on my second try… that Finnigan boy set something on fire…”

“So you do remember some things.”

Meissa rubs her temple, the attempt made her head hurt. “That hurt a lot more than it should have,” she remarks drily.

Hermione shifts her books so that she could hold them under one arm and presses a hand against Meissa's forehead. “No signs of a fever,” she comments. “Do you think you're coming down with something?”

“I doubt it,” Meissa mutters quietly, “I don't really get sick often.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione remarks.

Meissa shrugs her shoulders, “It's the Black genes. Strong immunity but you die young every time.”

Hermione stares at her wide eyed at that.

“Don’t talk like that!”

“What, I only meant the truth.”

Hermione smacks her shoulder. “It's still horrid! Why would you say something like that?”

Meissa grumbles as she rubs her shoulder. “It's the truth. No one in the family has ever reached their one hundredth birthday.”

“You could be the one that makes that difference!”

Meissa gives her a look that told her how much she didn't believe that.

“Look, I didn't mean to say it to make you worry, Hermione. It's just how the family worked. This is how it's been since before the 1800s.”

“You are a very blunt person, you know that?”

Meissa smiles almost deviously at the Gryffindor before she drops it, her thoughts straying from the conversation. She could remember a time when she spoke softly and respectable to all. Before her walls went up and she went cold inside.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“Supper is going to start soon, can you help me carry the books?”

Meissa looks at her strangely, realizing just what the bushy haired girl was saying. “You do realize that I never been to the Gryffindor Tower before right?” Meissa asks drily as she motions for the girl to start walking.

“I don't see you using the knowledge you've seen to get inside Gryffindor Tower.”

The raven-haired girl stays quiet s she follows Hermione. “I don't know what to say.”

Hermione rolls her eyes at the Slytherin and just led the way to the Fat Lady painting who eyed Meissa suspiciously.

“What are you doing here,” the proud and arrogant looking woman demands. Meissa had no doubt that it was directed at her. Her house colors were proudly displayed on her uniform after all.

“She was helping me carry my books.”

“She's an enemy of your House.”

“I trust her.”

Meissa was quiet - she wanted to discourage Hermione from being so trusting with her but at the same time she felt… glad that Hermione feels that way around her.

“She isn't entering. And you are not either until you get rid of her.”

“You're being ridiculous!”

“Hermione,” Meissa interrupts before things could get rolling. “It's okay,” she murmurs to the girl, “You don't need me here and I don't need to enter the Gryffindor Tower.” She smiles at the surprised look on her face as she hands her the books. “I'll see you around.”

~MJB~

Meissa presses her forehead against the post of her bed, her eyes squeezed tight to try and block out the light. She had a headache - it felt more like someone had pressed the tip of their wand against her temple and was boiling the inside of her head.

It was after supper and she was trying in vain to remember what had happened between Transfiguration and her wake up. The longer she tried to remember the worse the pain in her head became until she just had to give in. In defeat she searches her trunk for a vial of her migraine potions, producing plenty of empty vials before coming up with one precious migraine potion. Possibly her last until she gets a new batch from her godfather.

She gulps it down quickly, her hand grabbing the pillow and pressed it against her face. She wanted to block out the low light and muffle everything. She was actually tempted to reach for her wand and cast a silencing charm around her bed or at least reinforce the one she had placed in the beginning of the term.

“Meissa?” she hears someone call. She groans, disappointed that the silence she had been looking for was gone. “Meissa, are you okay? I heard about what happened, why did you attack Pansy?

Meissa takes a deep breath but sat up when something clicked in her mind.

“I attacked Pansy?” there was clear confusion in her voice.

“You don't remember that?” Daphne asks, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of Meissa's bed.

Meissa press a hand to her lips, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to figure this out in her mind. She knew that there was a gap in her memories but she didn't expect it to be something that major.

Wait, does that mean… the common room…?

“I need to talk to Professor Snape,” she mutters quietly, thinking.

“You have detention with him tomorrow, all day.”

“What?!”

“He's the one who put a stop to it.” There was a look in her eyes, a look she didn't like.

“You said I attacked Pansy,” she mutters quietly, “What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Nothing?”

“Last thing I remember is Transfiguration.”

“Nothing else?”

“…” Meissa frowns and press a hand to her temple as she thought this over. She was… what was she doing… “We went somewhere…”

“Do you remember where?” Meissa mutters to herself before she mutters that they had gone outside. “That's right.”

Meissa mutters quietly before she looks away, studying the stone wall opposite of the door.

“We were… sitting somewhere… Just you and me, talking and practicing a charm…”

“Right.”

She starts to bite on her thumb, her eyebrows furrowed as she starts to remember. “… Pansy,” she whispers, “I left to get us drinks…” Daphne nods her head to try and encourage her to remember even more. “I… I was coming back when I heard her say something. She was talking to you.”

“That's right.”

Meissa winces, her head starting to pound despite having recently taken a vial. “My head, it hurts…”

“Have you gone to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No.”

“She's a medic-witch, she could probably identify the problem,” Daphne reasons.

“It's not important,” Meissa dismisses as she rubs her temples.

“Meissa, this could be bad for your health, why don't you want to know?”

She stays quiet, not really committing an answer. She didn't know how to explain or even answer. And there was a large part of her that didn't want to. She pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around her knees - pressing her face against her knees to try and block out everything.

“Hey…” A hand touches her shoulder, “What's wrong?”

“It's… its too bright… it hurts.”

“Let me try something.” She turns her head slightly to watch Daphne pull her wand out. “Um… how did it go again?” Daphne whispers, “Ah. Now I remember. Exstingue.” (3)

A gesture later the room was dark and she could breathe easily. She presses a hand to her forehead, relieved that the lights were off.

“Thank you,” she mutters, brushing her hand against Daphne's shoulder. She rearranges her legs and starts to fiddle with the hem of her shirt.

“This doesn't seem normal, Meissa,” Daphne whispers before a hand presses against Meissa's forehead.

Startled at first Meissa made to move away before she realizes that the hand could only belong to Daphne.

“It's normal for me,” Meissa tells the concerned blonde.

“Maybe you should try to get some sleep?”

“Not until you tell me why I attacked Pansy.” She knew that not knowing what led to her detention would eventually drive her nuts. She wanted to find out now instead of later.

“…She was talking big, about having the favor of the Malfoy family. And that she knows that I'm the reason for what happened the other day.”

“What?”

“The pranks.”

“Oh…” Meissa frowns and she starts to hear bits and pieces of what happened.

As she remembers she bites down hard on her knuckle, nearly causing it to bleed in her agitation.

“She did something to you…” she mutters, switching to a different knuckle to bite on it instead.

“She didn't cast it right.”

There was a flash of a memory and she ended up shaking her head in disbelief. “How the bloody hell does someone miscast a severing charm?”

“I’m glad that she did,” the blonde mutters.

“I can't remember what happened after that.”

“You made sure I was okay before going after her.”

Meissa whines as she rubs her face, she couldn't remember any of this. She could just barely remember talking to Daphne and then… nothing. She remembered nothing between talking to Daphne and trying to get rid of her headache.

“Where did I attack Pansy?”

“In the Common Room.”

That didn't make sense.

“I followed her from the middle courtyard to the common room and attacked her in front of witnesses?”

“Yes.”

It seemed too much - how could she have been so stupid, so idiotic to attack someone with witnesses.

“Was any one hurt?” she asks quietly, her fingers untangling her thick curls. Working out the knots in her hair, braiding and re-braiding small strands repeatedly.

“No, at least, not from what I was told.”

Meissa frowns worriedly at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well… they said that you used the blasting curse repeatedly, destroyed about half of the common room and you were about to use Expulso when someone knocked you over.” Meissa rubs her forehead where she had felt a bump before. At least until she healed it. (4)

“None of this makes sense,” she mutters quietly.

“Why?”

“… My great-grandfather, when I was younger, told me that if someone must be dealt with - never do it where one may witness it.”

“He sounds like a great guy.”

A soft chuckle escapes Meissa. She could remember some of her childhood with him. He wasn't a great grandfather but he had been there for her when she needed him.

“Grandpa Polly was a strict old bugger,” she mutters quietly, “but he was a good man. He always told me that our family pride itself on being pure of blood. Toujours Pur.”

Meissa reaches out and brushes her hand against Daphne's shoulder. The action keeping her grounded despite the chaos in her mind.

“Always Pure. That's the family's motto…”

“But your grandfather, Polly…?”

“Pollux Black.”

“Ah. So, your grandfather, he taught you to…?”

“Toujours Pur. He told me that I needed to find my own meaning.”

“I thought the Black family caries a lot about-.”

“We do,” Meissa interrupts. “Or rather, they do. But grandfather Pollux, he said that it doesn't have to mean 'pure of blood'.”

“This is confusing. A Black saying it doesn't have to be about pure blood?”

Meissa chuckles softly. “Yeah, I know. It seems impossible right?”

“That's one way to put it.” Daphne shakes her head in disbelief, the motion felt by Meissa who still had a hand on Daphne's shoulder. “So, your grandfather also taught you to never leave witnesses?”

“Yeah. He always said that a Black business should stay with the Black family. No need for outsiders to get involved,” Meissa mumbles.

“It been ingrained in me for so long I can't even begin to think of why I would break that rule.”

“When you put it that way, it doesn't make sense,” Daphne mutters quietly in agreement.

“So… what happened to you?”

“I wished I knew, Daphne,” Meissa pulls away, shifting so that she was close to the head of the bed. “The second I find out though…. Well, you'll probably know before I even figure it out.”

“Why are you so sure about that?”

“Because it's likely true,” Meissa retorts, her thoughts a bit distant as she thought about her family.

“Hey, you should probably get some sleep,” Daphne mutters, pressing a hand to Meissa's forehead. “Especially if you still have a headache.”

“Mm… you're right,” Meissa mutter, tired now that it was mentioned.

Wordlessly she starts pulling at her school uniform, her movements clumsy until Daphne reached over and helped her. No words were exchanged between the two as the robes, tie, and socks were removed. The shirt and trousers were discarded last and only by Meissa as Daphne had left her side to get her a glass of water. Though red hue in her cheeks hadn't gone unnoticed when Daphne made the excuse to leave.

Meissa barely bothered with a pair of shorts and a thin cotton shirt, choosing to just lie down with all but one side of the curtains drawn. Just barely asleep by the time Daphne returned with a glass.

“Good night,” the Black Heiress whispers as Daphne sets down the glass.

“Night… Hey, Meissa?”

“Mm…?”

“We'll find out what's wrong with you. Together, okay?”

Meissa barely registered the blonde's words. The migraine potion and her low energy - her energy sapped from the long day - made her drowsy and nearly unresponsive. But she wasn't so far gone that she didn't or couldn't answer the other girl.

“Together…”

Daphne smirks at the soft snores that left Meissa's mouth afterwards and after watching all the tension and worries fade away from the pale face she draws the last curtain shut. She could only hope that Meissa's trouble wouldn't return in the morning.

~MJB~

_She couldn't breathe._

_Oh god, why._

_She looks wildly around her, a low pitch whine escaping her throat as she ran. Her terror was thick in her throat, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She couldn't breathe and the more she tried to the worse the feeling was._

_She looks wildly around, her hands grouping for something she couldn't find. The thick fear in her chest worsens and a heavy pant fills her ears._

“Meissa~” _she hears someone singsong her name and her heart practically jumps to her throat._

_She looks around but could see nothing in the gloom of where she was. But she felt like she was suffocating, like she was trapped in a tiny room._

“Meissa~!” _She whines and press her hands her ears to try and block out the voice._ ”Time to play~!”

“No!” _She slumps down and presses her face against her knees, her hands tightly pressed against her ears. Her breathing uneven and raggedly as she struggled to block out the noise._

“My sweet Meissa~ Come and play with me. I promise you'll like my new game~”

“No. No. No. No. No. No.”

“Meissa!”

She gasps as she threw her arm out, feeling a hand wrap around her wrist tightly. Panic flares deep inside her and she nearly screams out in horror. But before the scream could escape her throat a hand clasp down tightly on her mouth.

“Shh, Meissa, it's me!” She still struggled under the person's grasp until she hears them whisper 'Lumos'. The tip of a wand lights up and for the first time since she woken up she sees who it is. (5)

Daphne towered over her, her face worried and there was a red blemish on the right side of her face.

“Shh… you're safe, you're okay.”

Meissa shudders, her breathing was still uneven. And it took Daphne a minute to realize that it was actually getting worse, causing her to remove her hands from the girl.

Meissa, once she was free, was quick to scoot away from the blonde - her legs drawn and her hands wrapped tightly around them.

“You're okay,” Daphne whispers softly as she keeps her distance from the distraught girl.

“No,” the girl whispers quietly, “No… no one is ever okay.”

Daphne stares hopelessly at the raven-haired girl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> 1) **Accio** \- summoning charm  
>  2) **Tempus revelare** \- time reveal  
>  3) **Exstingue** \- extinguish   
>  4) **Expulso** \- used to produce immense explosions, blasting the target apart   
>  5) **Lumos** \- Wand-Light spell


	6. Idle Hands

Meissa was quiet, slicing an ingredient into small sizes before she added it to the cauldron. Her hands moving automatically, trying to lose herself in the motions.

She could feel Snape’s ever watchful eyes, analyzing her moves and her gestures. She hated that he knew her well enough to know when something’s wrong.

She hated that she was her own worst enemy. But she hated that people knew her better than she knew herself.

The closer she got to the completion of the potion, the more she slowed. Not because the potion called for it but because she dreaded the talk professor likely wanted to have. But personal pride demanded that she moved at the pace necessary for the potion.

Before long she was stirring the potion before she doused the flame to let it sit.

Finally done she wipes away any sweat on her forehead before silently telling herself that she couldn’t avoid it anymore. She dreaded what he was going to say but she knew that delaying it any longer would make things worse.

She fidgets with her shirt, warring with indecision, before she forces herself to walk over to him where he has been silently grading essays. 

“Professor?”

“We’re alone right now,” Snape replies without looking up.

Meissa fidgets, playing with her hair - ideally noting that she needed a trim.

“Um, Uncle Sevy…” she mutters quietly, not missing the look he had about her title for him. He never did like being called ‘Sevy’ by anyone.

“Meissa.”

“Uh…” she takes a seat across from him. “I…”

“Are you ready to talk about last night?”

“… Greengrass filled me in on some of what happened.”

“I see… you cannot remember anything?” Meissa nods her head slowly.” Tell me what you can remember.”

With a reluctant sigh she tells him about everything that had happened in the recent week. Glossing completely over her involvement in the pranks done on Pansy - though she doubts he fell for it.

“The last thing you can remember, without the aid of what your friend had told you, is returning with drinks for Greengrass and yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Strange…” Snape comments, thinking about it.

“What is?”

He looks at her strangely for a moment before shaking his head. “Did your friend say you took off after Parkinson?”

Meissa thought it over for a second. “Um… Yeah, yeah she did.”

Snape nods, thinking as he writes something down on his parchment.

“You remember nothing at all?”

“None.”

“But any other time when you had a black out you remembered what led to it, correct?”

Meissa nods her head, she hated the occasional blackouts. Sometimes she woke up in the same room, other times she wakes up far from where she had been in the first place. She once woke up surrounded by toys she hadn’t played with since she was seven.

She watches Snape search for a clean parchment, twirling her wand slowly. Once he had found a sheet he starts writing something and sensing that nothing else could be done at the moment Meissa gets up to check on the potion. Despite knowing that it would be another ten minute before the potion is completed and it would be time for her.

“It’s still puzzling,” Snape observes, “Normally you can recall what led to your blackouts or at least the general mood you had likely been feeling.”

“It is weird…” Meissa mutters in agreement, gathering the remaining ingredients she hadn’t used. She had been very precise and managed to use just enough to not be wasteful. Some of the items couldn’t be reused so she disposes of them properly. The bits she could use for another potion she stored safely away before gripping the sides of the table.

“Uncle Sevy?” she calls quietly, “Will I ever be normal?”

Snape’s writing stops at her question and he slowly sets it down before he locks his fingers together. He props his chin on his hands, thinking. “Meissa. Why would you wish to be normal?”

“It would be better than what I feel right now. Better than this…”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“It isn’t normal to be like this Uncle Sevy!”

“Normal is…” Snape pauses to think of what to say. “It means changing who you are to fit in.”

Meissa turns and crosses her arms. “I don’t want to be like this Uncle Sevy.”

“Then you have another reason to be consistent with your potions, yes?”

The girl sighs and nods her head before she rubs her face. “What should I do? I mean, I attacked Pansy in front of witnesses.” She starts pacing. “I thought I knew that I couldn’t leave witnesses.”

Snape picks up his quill and scribbles something down. “You said that you were in the courtyard at the time of your blackout, correct?” he hears her make a noise that he takes as a yes. “So I want to know how the two of you ended up in the Common Room before the attack.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were in the courtyard at the time of Pansy’s attack on Greengrass. Yet Pansy wasn’t attacked until she was in the Common Room.” He looks up to see Meissa is nodding her head slowly, waiting for the point.

“Um….What?”

Snape sighs and beckons her over, getting another sheet of parchment out.

“As you know the courtyard you were practicing in is on the other side of the castle grounds, close to the Ravenclaw Tower.” He draws a circle just as Meissa was taking a seat. “The entrance to the Slytherin tower is in the dungeons.” He does a rough sketch and she sees what he means.

“How did I miss that…” she whispers quietly as she stares at the wet ink.

“I chased her,” she whispers in realization.

“The question is, why?”

Meissa got up and started to pace, biting on her thumb as she thought it over. “I…” she slows to a stop by the cauldron, distractingly sending the potions into the vials. “I hated Parkinson. I didn’t like her because she was everything I hated about…” she trails off.

Snape watched on as she stood there, wondering if he should say something to bring her out of her reflective moment.

He knew from past experience that it was likely an unpleasant memory but at the same time he knew that she needed to face the past. It was, for him, the only way for her to move on. She needs to face the past instead of running away from it.

When he decided that too much time has passed he stands to the fullest height he can achieve. “Meissa.”

There was no response.

“Meissa.”

Nothing.

“Meissa Jean Black!” he calls sharply.

Her head snaps up, her attention called instantly. She turns towards him with an unhappy look on her face - she hated anyone using her full name. But he had seen it as a necessary evil if he wanted to get her attention.

They stare at each other for a long moment before she lets out a huff.

“You worry about every little thing!”

“You give me probable reason to.”

Meissa crosses her arms stubbornly at him.

“It’s not like I intend to.”

Snape stands and walks over to her, looking down to her defiant and oh so insecure eyes.

“What?” she asks, her voice low and soft. A huge difference from the earlier defiance.

“I know you never intended to,” he reassures her, clasping her on her shoulders. “However, I worry because I care.”

She frowns at him before she averts her eyes. “Uncle Sevy… I’m sorry,” she mumbles quietly before she hugs him.

Snape smiles to himself and hugs her back as tightly as she hugged him. Hugging her for as long as she would let him, until she started to squirm. Then he let her go, his eyes watchful as she barely manage to suppress a shudder.

Her aversion to being held for more than a moment was often a source of trouble in hard times. Snape often had to find ways to comfort the girl without provoking her into an even worse panic attack.

“No apologies needed,” he whispers as he brushes her hair out her face. “Now then, have you finished your potions?”

Meissa groans as she sulks back to her workstation to present the two correctly brewed potions.

“I dunno if this is meant to be punishment or fun,” she gripes to him, handing him the vials.

“Anything is better than having you destroy everything in your wake,” Snape remarks as he returned to his desk.

“Well I’m bored now, Uncle Sevy!” Meissa whines as she ungracefully plops down in the chair across from him.

“Then brew another one.”

“This was the third potion you had me make.”

“This hardly qualifies as third,” he writes something down as he observes the coloring of the potions.

“I was brewing two potions at once for the first round, Uncle Sevy. It counts as third.”

“Then might I recommend a harder potion?” he hasn’t looked up yet. “Perhaps the Babbling beverage? It would go wonderfully with the Volubilis potion.”

Meissa glances at him as she twirls her wand.

“The Babbling potion is hardly worth my time,” she dismisses, “And what about the Volubilis potion?”

He looks up briefly, exchanging a brief look with her. She knew right then she wasn’t fooling him. Nevertheless she went on.

“How about a laugh-inducing potion?” she suggest before she screws her face up in distaste. “On second thought, never mind.”

“Perhaps you should try Veritaserum?” Snape suggests, “Or the Polyjuice?”

“Dull and… nah,” Meissa dismisses.

“You are being picky on purpose.”

“Well I’m terribly bored!”

Snape sighs and gives her a look that told her to behave. She simply crosses her arms and gives him a look of her own.

“You could let me out early.”

“I said all day and that is what you will get.”

Meissa sighs in complete and utter boredom.

“Fine, I’ll go scrub the cauldrons or something. Anything better than this dull sitting around.” With a huff she was up and stomping across the room with Snape shaking his head in disbelief at the girl’s antics.

“With or without magic,” he inquires after her, just before the door to the other room could slam shut.

~MJB~

Meissa was present for supper and had an appreciation for her freedom as she scarfs down her food. Ignoring completely the glares of her housemates. Though in perfect honestly she should have been worried as having enemies within one’s own house is never actually the brightest idea one could have.

“How was detention with Professor Snape?” Daphne is asking the raven haired girl as she speared a slice of ham. Her eyes curious as she watched Meissa’s movements.

“Dreadfully boring,” the girl confides. “As much as I enjoy brewing potions there is a moment when it just becomes repetitive.” She makes a face.

“Brewing potions can become repetitive?”

Meissa nods as she makes herself a sandwich with two slabs of bread, ham, cheese, and pretty much whatever she wanted.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yes, why?”

“Maybe because you seem really interested in building a perfect sandwich.”

Meissa pauses in her activity and looks at the blonde with a sheepish look on her face.

“Sorry.” She sets the knife down. “I’m honestly not interested in eating often so…”

“So you cram as much as you can in one sitting?”

The disbelief was rather clear in Daphne’s voice at this point.

“It’s better than eating nothing when I am in the mood to eat something.”

Daphne stares at her in confusion while Meissa adopts a puzzled look.

“I think you just confused both of us.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Meissa mutters as she replays the sentence in her mind a few times. She quickly waves off their confusions before she helps herself to the sandwich.

“So what’s so different about today?”

“Um… I don’t know,” she confesses.

“Is it always going to be one confusing day after another with you?” Daphne asks idly as she makes herself another plate to eat. 

“It seems likely.”

“Fantastic.”

Meissa snickers at Daphne’s deadpanned voice before a pensive look crosses her face. “Do you… do you want to stop being…”

Daphne blinks in surprise before she takes Meissa’s hand, though she didn’t fail to notice the twitch of the girl’s hand at the touch.

“Meissa, I will never stop wanting to be your friend. I mean we’ll have rows now and then - that’s what friends do.” The girls look at each other. “But I’ll never tell you to get lost.”

Meissa starts to squirm under the blonde’s touch, prompting Daphne to let her go.

Someday Daphne is going to figure out the strange contradiction that is the youngest living Black but until then she’ll just have to take each day one by one until she does.

Daphne barely noticed the slight shudder Meissa gave before she started eating again. Acting like she hadn’t noticed that the other girl’s odd quirks.

There will be another time to go over them.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the middle of braiding her hair, enjoying the midday sun and the autumn breeze, when Hermione walked into the courtyard, nose buried in her book. The raven-haired girl rolls her eyes fondly at the girl’s antics.

“Hermione,” the Slytherin calls out to the girl just as she was starting to walk by.

She squeaks and whirls around in mid-jump. “Oh, Meissa!” the girl exclaims, pressing the closed book to her chest. “How are you today?” she asks just as Meissa was tying off the end of her braid.

Before she huffs in annoyance at the bangs that were too short to be tied back in the braid.

“I’m well enough,” Meissa answers as she plays with the end of her braid.

“Only well enough?”

Meissa gives her an amused look. “Did you expect something more?”

“Mm… I honestly haven’t the foggiest idea.”

The raven haired girl chuckles, “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I uh…” Hermione sits down next to the Slytherin girl, lowering her voice, “I was researching Harry’s ancestors.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione blushes and fidgets in her seat. “Harry Potter’s parents? Whatever for?”

“I, well, Harry was made seeker of the Gryffindor team.”

Meissa cocks an eyebrow up at the girl.

“And this warrants a research?”

“I was terribly curious.”

“Haven’t you heard the phrase about curiosity?”

“Of course, who hasn’t?”

“Then I suggest reigning in your curiosity,” Meissa teases, getting an even brighter shade of red from the other girl.

“But I found out that-.”

“Harry’s father was a chaser,” Meissa interrupts.

“How did you know?!”

Meissa rolls her eyes. “Oh honestly Hermione, my godfather went to school with Harry’s parents.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Oh… who was he?”

Meissa smiles at him. “He’s a brilliant man, my godfather,” she whispers in a conspiratorial tone. “Oh but everyone hates him so much. He isn’t well liked but that’s okay. I know who he really is and I love him for it.”

Hermione looks at her strangely before shakes her head. “So your godfather, he knew Harry’s parents?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fantastic! Maybe he can tell Harry stories about his parents!”

Meissa grimaced at what the Gryffindor said and it did not go amiss.

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Um… My godfather doesn’t really like to talk about his Hogwarts day. Understandable really when you think about it.”

“And you’re not going to tell me.”

The Black Heiress glances at the other girl, noting right away her downcast look.

“It’s not I don’t want to,” Meissa words carefully, “It’s more like it’s not my place to.” She scratches her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve known him my whole life, Hermione, and getting anything from his Hogwarts days is like pulling teeth from an old coot.”

Hermione rolls her eyes before she smacks her friend on the arm.

“What! It’s true!” she whines pitifully at the Gryffindor before they hear someone say something in a raised voice.

“Someone will vanish occasionally…”

They look up to see that its Harry and Ron just as two older and identical redheads head down a different path.

“But they’ll turn up in a month or two!!”

“Oh go on Harry, Quidditch is great,” Ron is saying as he walks past them, the boys either unaware of their presence or uncaring. “Best game there is! And you’ll be great too!” Hermione jumps up from the bench and Meissa trudges along, carrying her things along. Might as well see what these three are up to.

“But I’ve never even played Quidditch,” Harry was saying as she caught up to them. “What if I make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t make a fool of yourself,” Hermione injects, “It’s in your blood.” She turns to Meissa, “Right?”

“Well, being a seeker I won’t attribute to the father. But he always did say that he was a natural born flyer.”

“What, my father told you?”

“No, my godfather,” Meissa answers bluntly.

“Oh.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “My point is, Harry, you’ll do great.” She walks off but not before she beckons them to follow her.

A short trip later they were approaching a trophy case and the bushy haired girl points to a plaque of Quidditch players. One in particular listed a James Potter as a Chaser as well as the Quidditch captain.

“Whoa. Harry, you never told me your father was a Chaser,” Ron breathed in awe while Meissa was rolling her eyes at the red head. He was a bit of a hopeless one this one.

“You don’t think your words through do you?” the Black heiress questions in a lazy drawl before Hermione smacks her shoulder in a silent reprimand to play nice.

“Oi, what are you doing with us, snake?” Ron all but growled - he had very little intimidation factor in the raven-haired girl’s opinion. His face just didn’t suit his attempts to scowl.

“Ronald, she’s my friend.”

“She’s a Slytherin.”

“So?” Meissa retorts. “There is nothing in the books that states one must be friends only with their own house.”

“She has a point there,” Hermione remarks.

“She’s a Slytherin! Our worst enemy!” Meissa scoffs and earned a look of ire from the flaming red head.

“There are far worst things out there besides us measly Slytherins,” she drawls.

“What could be worse than you?” Ron asks though the look in Harry’s eyes suggested that he knew or at least suspected.

“You know already,” Meissa drawls. “Every time you flinch at his name, every time you whisper You-Know-Who, you give him power.” She shakes her head and starts to walk away though she was quickly joined by Hermione.

“Who?” Hermione asks, her voice low.

“The fallen Dark Lord. He was the cause of the Wizarding war that ended ten years ago on Halloween night.”

“And you’re not afraid of him?”

Meissa paused to think about that one. She never thought about if she was afraid of him or not. “I think fear is subjective. I can’t be afraid of something I know isn’t around anymore.”

“So, every time someone says You-Know-Who, they’re basically saying they’re afraid of this person?”

“His name is Voldemort.” Meissa didn’t miss the flinch Ron gave at the name. “And people’s been afraid of him since he started his rise to power in 1970.”

“You know a lot about this person despite the fact people don’t like to talk about him.”

“Considering he’s the reason why my mother is… well, in prison, I have reason to be interested in his personal history.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Meissa glances at Hermione before sighing. “I know. Not many would unless they know personally who my mother is.”

“Who is she, if you feel comfortable telling me that is.”

Meissa turns to look at the boys as they chattered about something. “Her name is Bellatrix Black.” A glance at Hermione told her that she doesn’t know who that is but she saw that she had every intention of finding out. Ron, on the other hand, had narrowed his eyes in suspicion once he heard the name.

“We probably should get going. It’s getting late and curfew is nearly here,” Meissa distracts the girl before she could ask for more information.

“Oh, you’re right.” Hermione turns to the boys. “Ron, Harry, we need to go!”

“Not until you lose the Slytherin!”

Meissa rolls her eyes. “I’m headed the same way you are, Weasley. Unless you wish to explain to Professor Snape why I was late to returning to the Slytherin house.” Weasley turned pale at the suggestion. “I didn’t think so.”

 


	7. Meltdown

Meissa was quiet, trailing after Harry and Ron with Hermione by her side. Taking the steps in a slow pace but at the same time keeping up with the boys as they chattered among themselves.

“I’m telling you, it’s spooky,” Weasley was whispering, “She knows more about you than you do.”

Meissa glances at the brunette besides her, wondering if she’s feeling okay, pausing with her when she saw something move out of the corner of her eyes.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Harry, you should probably know that there’s been these-,” Meissa was saying before the staircase shuddered underneath them and with a sickening lurch she grabs the railing besides her.

“Ahh!”

Hermione gasped while Harry grabbed the railing too, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “What’s happening?”

“The staircases change, remember?” Hermione retorts.

Meissa looks around before she narrows her eyes in recognition. Just as Harry tapped Ron on she grabs them both before they could run up the stairs. “This is the third floor,” she hisses, “the Forbidden corridor is down this way.” She points to another set of stairs that led down but it was the only option that wouldn’t require them backtracking and wasting ten minutes to find their way around this latest problem.

“But we could cut through here to -,” Ron was saying.

“Do you really want to have another meeting with that filthy cat and its owner?” Meissa interrupts.

“Meissa,” Hermione scolds.

“What, you know I’m right,” the raven-haired girl retorts. “Those two stalk the halls and I actually wouldn’t be surprised if they were lurking around right now.” The boys looked around out of paranoia. “Let’s go,” she takes the path she had pointed out, stopping about half way to see if anyone is following her.

The only one who even moved was Hermione and when she looks at the boys she saw that distrust were clear in their eyes.

“Honestly,” she rolls her eyes at them. “I make a deal with you and you still don’t trust me.” She turns with a huff and was quick to make her way down the stairs. If they didn’t want to trust her then that’s fine with her.

Hermione slips a hand into Meissa’s and gives her a reassuring smile when the raven-haired girl glances at her.

“Sometimes,” the Slytherin remarks, “I wonder if you’re too trusting.”

Hermione squeeze her hand before she lets go. “I know a lot about the houses because of Hogwarts: A History,” she remarks.

Meissa slowly stopped, the words barely registering at first but once it sunk in she couldn’t stop laughing. She actually fell from tripping over her feet.

“Meissa!” Hermione cries when the raven-haired girl rolled down the rest of the steps, running after the fallen girl. She drops to her knees besides the girl who was still laughing. “Meissa, are you okay?” The Slytherin starts to wheeze, her laughter so intense she couldn’t stop until she pressed her fist against her mouth. “Did you get hit by a spell?”

Her only answer was a head shake.

Hermione helps the Black heiress back to her feet, relieved that Meissa’s laughter was actually dying off. “What has gotten into you?” Hermione asks, poking Meissa in her side.  This actually made her giggle a bit before she tried - key word - to regain her composure.

“Sorry, it just, you’re basing your opinions of the houses on a book written by Bathilda Bagshot?”

“What’s so bad about it?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Meissa laughs quietly, “It’s just, you’re going to trust the words of a woman over a century old?”

“But she’s gone here,” Hermione protests.

“So? There are plenty of secrets here that are well-kept,” Meissa dismisses before they come to a corridor that split in opposite directions. She takes her wand out and lays it flat in her palm. “Point me Draco Malfoy,” she whispers quietly and the wand spins in her palm once, twice, trice before it settled. The tip was pointing the way to their left. (1)

“That’s a handy spell,” Hermione remarks.

“Mhm. I don’t remember where I found it,” Meissa comments as she grips her wand.

“One of the spell books?”

“Maybe.” Meissa repeats the spell except this time she used a different name. “Point me Gryffindor Tower.” This time the tip fell to the right, indicating that the tower was to their right.

“You could’ve found your way to the tower without me,” Hermione comment, wondering if it could’ve been easy for any other to find their way to the Gryffindor Tower.

“Not really. I needed to know its general location before I could actually use this spell,” Meissa tells her. “Anyway, looks like you need to head that way. If you’re not sure where to go use the spell and it’ll point you down the right path.”

“What, you’re not coming with me?”

Meissa smiles brilliantly at her. “You should be able to handle yourself, Hermione. Besides, there isn’t much I can do.”

“But-.”

“Hermione,” Meissa clasp her on her shoulders. “You are a brilliant witch and I have all the confidence that with time you’ll be the best.”

“You’ve said something like that before.”

“I meant it,” Meissa remarks drily. “You have the potential to be far, far greater than Morgan Le Fay.”

“Now you’re really making things up.”

Meissa shakes her head and starts backing away. “You’ll find out for yourself, Hermione,” she waves at the dumbfounded Gryffindor before she turns and ambles away. Her stride long and casual as she left Hermione staring after her.

Sometimes she has no idea what to make of the Black heiress.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the common room, steadfastly ignoring the marks from her supposed duel from the other day. She was dictating her quill what to write, trying her best not to let her mind get distracted like she normally would have.

Occasionally she would choose to mumble or end up talking herself into a circle.

It was actually because of this that she ends up having to write her essays by hand. But dictating her papers by voice meant that she could try and sort her thoughts out first before she has to write it out.

She was still working on her essay when Daphne came into the dungeon. She looked a bit worse for wear though Meissa couldn’t fathom a reason for it. “Daphne, are you alright?” she asks before she took notice of her quill scribbling something. “Oi, hold on there!” she shouts as she snatches the quill from the parchment.

She glares at the enchanted quill, “Oh honestly, can’t you tell the difference between a conversation and dictation.” Annoyed she draws a line through the words it had half written before she had taken noticed.

“Have you lost your mind?” Daphne asks in a dry tone though when the raven-haired girl looks at her she notices that the blonde was keeping a fair distance from her.

“Daphne… what’s the matter?” She crosses the room quickly, noting how much Daphne was making an effort to avoid her. “Okay now this is just getting ridiculous.”

“Meissa its okay.” Meissa narrows her eyes and grabs her wand. “Oh, you’re seriously considering that?”

“Well if you would stop moving around!”

Daphne keeps dodging Meissa’s attempts to catch up with her. Causing them to run around in circles in the common room until Meissa was scowling at the blonde. They were on opposite sides of the couches. She moves left, Daphne copies her. She moves right, she’s copied.

“Daphne Greengrass, tell me what is wrong!”

“Why there has to be something wrong?”

Meissa grips the back of the couch, her anger rising - its jagged nails tearing at her. But at the same time there was something deep inside that told her. Told her she couldn’t just let this slip.

“Greengrass, I’m giving you exactly one chance to tell me what is wrong or else I will start using spells!”

Daphne whips out her own wand and soon they were reduced to standing there, aiming at each other.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Daphne confess after they just stood there for a few seconds.

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“That’s about as true as me saying I’m muggleborn,”

Daphne glares at the raven-haired girl. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I know I am, what about you.”

“Just stop it!”

“So what, you’re allowed to care about me but the second I start to do the same you just shut me down?” Meissa retorts angrily. “It isn’t right!”

“Why not? You benefit from it!”

“Because that’s not what friends are!”

The two of them stare at each other, poised to fight but extremely reluctant to. Daphne thought that Meissa could beat her hands down. Meissa thought about how much she didn’t want to hurt Daphne.

“I’ve seen what you do,” Daphne mutters.

“So?”

“So? So I don’t want people to get hurt because of me!”

Meissa shakes her head in confusion. “People get hurt all the time!”

“Not because they hurt me! Not because you got angry that I was hurt or nearly hurt!”

“You’re being unreasonable!”

“Well you’re irrational!”

“That’s the same thing!”

“You’re not helping your point at all.”

Meissa throws her arms up in frustration. “So what, do you want me to not defend you at all? Do you want me to sit back and let people like Parkinson just walk all over you?” she demands angrily.

“No!”

The two girls glare at each other from opposite sides of the couches.

“You’re making no sense,” Meissa whispers quietly. “What is it you want from me. Tell me and I’ll do it without hesitation!”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble with the professors over me.”

“You’re my friend. I thought…” Meissa shakes her head and bit her knuckle. Her wand trembling as she fought to understand. “I don’t know anymore,” she mutters quietly, her wand lowering.

“Meissa…”

She shakes her head, refusing to listen anymore, and with a long sweep of her wand her things organize themselves into a neat stack before it flies into her outstretched hand. “You want to be left alone,” she mutters, “then I’ll leave you alone.”

With that she disappears down the stairs, ignoring Daphne’s attempts to call her back.

~MJB~

The rest of October rolled by quickly and the stony silence between Greengrass and Black had become noticeable to all of Slytherin. Draco was privy to the dark moods his cousin was in and frequently had to shut her in an empty classroom when her expression turned thunderous and her fingers start to twitch.

Parkinson was quick to take advantage of the rift between the two and was frequently cornering Greengrass. Whenever Meissa catches Parkinson and Greengrass together she would watch them. A dark look would settle on her face as per what she said she left it alone. Often turning a blind eye to whatever was happening.

Soon Halloween was here and Meissa’s mood has not improved one iota since the beginning of the month. So in Charms, when Professor Flitwick announced that he believed they were ready to start making objects fly her mood actually took a turn for the worst.

Daphne and her, prior their falling out, were usually partners in everything. Now, she’s been pairing up with whomever is brave enough to face her dark moods and low tolerances for mess ups.

However, by Halloween - after two straight weeks - the number of students willing to pair up with her had gone from half of the class to maybe a small tiny handful. And the students she had yet to pair up with were incompetent.

From across the room Hermione tries to smile at her in reassurance, fully aware that for the last week or so the Slytherin’s mood has been rather poor lately. But Meissa felt that Hermione needed the reassurance since she was paired with Ronald Weasley.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. And once again Meissa was fighting the urge to nudge one of the books out of place with a well-aimed spell. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too - never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Meissa eyes her partner, an apathetic Slytherin she couldn’t quite place, and she gestures at the feather. “You first.”

“Don’t think you can do it?” her partner sneers.

“I rather show you up,” she remarks drily.

Five tries later - and a fire at Harry and Seamus’ table - and her partner had yet to lift the feather while Meissa sat nearby, her hand ready to block the errant wand before it could poke an eye out.

Meissa was looking around in class, and her attention fell on Hermione and Ron. The redhead looked to be at his wits end with the spell.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

“You're saying it wrong, “she hears Hermione snap. “It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.” Meissa winces at the tone she had used - she had no doubt that the redhead would take offense to it.

“You do it, then, if you're so clever,” Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!”

Meissa smirks at the spluttering outrage from her partner.

“What, angry you’ve been shown up by a muggleborn?” Meissa chuckles as she takes her wand. “Perhaps I can help you feel better.” With a swish and a flick she wordlessly sends the feather floating up to join Hermione’s flower.

“A nonverbal spell!” her partner shrieks, earning the attention of Professor Flitwick.

“Who cast a nonverbal spell?”

“She did!”

Ousted Meissa meets the professor’s gaze with a bored look.

“Most unexpected, Miss Black,” the Professor compliments. He studies the floating feather with an approving smile. “An uncommon skill for one your age yet impressive nevertheless.”

“Thank you Professor Flitwick,” she bows her head.

“If I may, who taught you to perform non-verbal magic?”

“No one, sir,” she answers smoothly, “I read in a book that non-verbal magic is harder to perform and the spells are often weaker.”

He stares at her, studying her. “Then you mean to tell me that you learned how to cast a spell non-verbally for the challenge?” She nods her head. “Ten points to Slytherin for determination,” he praises before he levels a stern look at her. “However, I do urge you to exercise caution when you practice your spells.”

“Yes sir.”

He studies her for another moment before he reminds the others that they still need to levitate their feathers.

~MJB~

Meissa was in a good mood by the end of the class - she managed to show up a Slytherin, an arrogant one at that - and she earned the house some points. Though now she has to wonder if it’s possible for her to start learning how to cast the spells wandlessly.

It was this thought that distracted her as the rest of her house hurried out of the classroom, leaving her surrounded by the Gryffindors.

“Meissa,” she hears someone greet her and when she turns to look she sees that it’s Hermione.

“Ello,” she greets as she slings her bag over her shoulder, sliding her wand into its’ holster.

Hermione smiles at her, “You were brilliant in there.”

Meissa barely managed to suppress her grin into a tiny smirk. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” she excuses.

“How, we’re the same age.”

Meissa tilts her head thoughtfully at Hermione, thinking. “Being a pureblood has some advantage,” she admits reluctantly. “Old families have wards set up that prevents the Ministry of Magic from detecting certain… types of magic,” she explains in the lowest voice she could muster.

“But isn’t that illegal?”

The Black heiress fidgets as she tries to think of an explanation. “The Ministry has to recognize that the older families practice traditions that have long been discarded by modern wizarding society,” she finally starts to explain. “This, in a way, gives the old families some space to teach their children magic at a fairly young age.”

“So, you were taught by your family?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Hermione looks puzzled at her. “Then what are you saying?”

Meissa sighs as she tries to figure out what to say. “My family didn’t teach me any magic. It’s too… fractured for that.” She grimaced at the word she had chosen but couldn’t take it back. “But because I’m a pureblood and because I was raised by my godfather the Ministry couldn’t quite… put a Trace on me.” She gestures at Hermione. “If you had been born to a witch or a wizard chances are they wouldn’t have placed a Trace on you either.”

Hermione shakes her head in confusion, “This makes little sense.”

Meissa laughs softly. “I’m sorry, I know it doesn’t make much sense but it’s why I have a bit of an edge.”

“I envy you,” Hermione mutters quietly.

Meissa glances at her before staring at the two boys ahead of them. “Um… if you want, you could come over to my house over the summer and we could practice a bit…”

“Really?” Meissa didn’t fail to hear the excited note in Hermione’s voice but she sure didn’t expect the Gryffindor to throw her arms around her happily. “Thank you!”

At first the Black heiress stiffened under the touch but just as Hermione was going to pull away - apologies on the tip of her tongue - she hugs her back. The Gryffindor barely had the time to register the returned gesture when it was gone. When she looks at the other girl she found that there was an uneasy look on her face coupled with a hesitant smile.

It was such a conflicting look Hermione had no idea what to do about it.

She was going to say something when they hear someone say something very loudly. “It’s Leviosa, not Leviosar.” Hermione tenses up at the words. “It’s no wonder no one can stand her.”

Meissa recognizes the voice to belong to Ron and her face darkens as she realizes what’s happening. “She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Hermione burst to tears and was hurrying away, knocking into Harry, before Meissa could say a word.

“Hermione!” she calls after the girl, giving chase. But before she went too far she whirls around to glare at the redhead. “Next time, Weasley, watch your mouth!” she growls at the startled boy.

Angry but at the same time worried, Meissa chases after Hermione and when she lost her - a group of Hufflepuff boys had obscured her vision - she retorts to using the point me spell.

The spell took her up to the fifth floor and when she entered the restroom she could hear Hermione’s crying.

“Hermione…” she whispers quietly, easing the door shut behind her.

She stops and could barely make out the hitch in the Gryffindor’s breathing. “Hermione, it’s me, Meissa…”

“Leave me alone,” Hermione sniffles from one of the stalls.

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“But-.”

“No buts,” the Back heiress interrupts. She turns and, with a wave of her wand, she locks the door to ensure some privacy.

“Why do you want to be around me,” the Gryffindor sniffles, “You heard what he said.”

“Why would I listen to a Weasley?” A stall door cracks open and Meissa sees her disapproval. “Hey there,” she smiles, amused by the look the other girl had given her. But the tears and red cheeks tugged at her heart. She made a vow to herself that she’ll make the boy pay.

Hermione smiles shyly at her, rubbing her cheeks roughly to wipe away the tears. But Meissa could see that the Gryffindor was feeling insecure still and there was something in her eyes - other than tears - that told the Slytherin that she wanted to ask a question but was afraid to.

“Mione…”

“Am I a nightmare?”

Meissa raise an eyebrow at her before going over to her to clasp her shoulders. It was as close to a hug she was willing to get. “You’re passionate,” Meissa words carefully, “Opinionated.” She smiles reassuringly at the depressed Gryffindor. “Compassionate. Responsible.” Hermione starts to blush at the compliments but she was still sniffling. “Hey,” she mutters, “Ron - he’s a kind of guy who doesn’t like to be shown up.”

“But -.”

“No buts,” she interrupts. She had no intention to allow Hermione to wallow. She hated the tears and she didn’t want her to cry, not ever again. “Please, don’t cry anymore…”

“Why do you see so much they can’t see?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders, “I watch. I always watch and listen when no one else does.”

“Then you may be even smarter than myself.”

“No, Hermione, I observe. That’s all. You…” she pause to try and find the right word. “I believe you can piece together what I’ve seen.”

Hermione stares at her for a long moment before she shakes her head. “Thanks… you know, for following.”

Meissa smiles at her before she points her wand at the floor nearest the wall. “Scourgify!” When the spot has cleared up and was clean she makes herself comfortable. “Whenever you’re ready,” she tells the Gryffindor. (2)

“But… what about the Halloween feast?”

The Black heiress gives her a look. “Way I see it, Mione, we have six more years of Hogwarts. We’ll have another chance to enjoy the Halloween Feast. Right now, I just want to focus on you.”

Hermione smiles shyly before she retreats into the stall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) **Point me spell** \- used to find one’s way to a location or person
> 
> 2) **Scourgify** \- Cleaning spell


	8. Trouble in Hogwarts

Meissa was thinking - trying to find something to distract herself - as she waited for Hermione to leave the stall.

Patience has never been quite her virtue and as she listened to Hermione blowing her nose there was something else. Something low and barely audible. Curious she gets to her feet, reaching for her wand out of paranoia.

Quiet and listening out for the strange noise she stops in front of the stall Hermione’s in. She raps on it, something bothering her. “Hermione, I’ll be right back. I want to -,” she stops when the doors jiggle. She watches it suspiciously for a moment.

“Meissa?”

“Shh, one second.” She grips her wand tightly as she eyes the doors. She was raising her wand when the doors gave in, the spell locking the door snapping with the doors.

“Oh god,” she breathes when she could see what had forced the doors open. The stall behind her open and the Gryffindor gasped.

It was a Mountain Troll. Twelve feet tall, its’ skin was an ugly dull granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. And in its’ hand was a huge wooden club.

A high petrified scream escaped Hermione just as Meissa snapped into action. “PROTEGO DUO!!” Meissa screamed. (1)

Just as the club swung down a bright transparent blue shield sprung up.

The Slytherin cries out as the club made contact with the shield, falling to her knees while the troll stumbled back. Drained from the effort Meissa could barely stand and Hermione had to lift her up - half dragging her.

“Down!” Meissa hisses, seeing the troll move out of the corner of her eye.

They dropped down and the club shattered the stalls, raining wooden shards all around them. Gasping and trying to breathe Meissa shoves Hermione into moving.

“Hermione!” They hear someone holler. They look towards the doors to see that Harry and Ron were there.

“Help!” Hermione screams as she pulls at the dazed and exhausted Black heiress.

“Oi, Pea-brain!” Ron yells as he threw things at it. Hermione tries to drag Meissa from the stalls.

“Hermione, go,” Meissa mutters weakly, shoving at her to run.

“Not without you!”

Meissa groans and barely manage to force herself to her knees. Hermione wraps her arms around her and with a great haul she helps Meissa over to the sinks.

“Hermione!”

Meissa pushes Hermione under a sink, covering her body with her own just as a club smashed into a sink nearby. She aims her wand over her shoulder, “EXPULSO!”

Hermione wraps her arms around Meissa as the heiress tries to turn and see what’s happening.

She watched Harry get out his wand and held her breath to see what spell he would use. So when he runs forward and grabs the troll's club her eyes went big. “Whoa! Whoa, whoa!” he lands on the troll's head, and is hurled forward, then back, and his wand goes up the troll's nose.

She cringes, “Ew.”

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life. All too soon the troll gets Harry off its head and was holding him by one leg, upside down. It gears up its club and swipes at Harry. He pulls himself up, then down. The troll swipes again.

Meissa tries to aim her wand but she could barely hold her hand up let alone muster the magic for a spell.

“Do something!” Harry cries out as he pulled himself up to avoid another swipe of the troll’s club.

“What?!” Ron cries hopelessly.

“Anything! Hurry up!”

Hermione’s arm appears by Meissa’s head as she fought to stay awake. “Swish and flick!” she did the gesture for the levitation charm.

And as if he heard her through the chaos of the room Ron cries, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over - and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

Hermione, supporting Meissa’s nearly unconscious form, was the first to speak. “Is it… dead?”

“I don't think so,” said Harry, “I think it's just been knocked out.” He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue. “Urgh - troll boogers.”

“Next time use your wand for magic,” Meissa slurs, her head drooping as her knees threatens to give out on her. 

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

“Miss Black!” Snape recognized his student hanging half-awake on Hermione’s shoulder, ignoring the troll in favor of checking over the girl. He was quick to take her from the Gryffindor and lay her against the wall, his wand casting a spell.

While Professor McGonagall was staring down her Gryffindors.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. “You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?”

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look in between checking Meissa’s health and deducing that she had drained her magical reserves.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

“Please, Professor McGonagall - they were looking for me.”

Meissa looks past Snape to try and look for Hermione. 

“Miss Granger!”

“I went looking for the troll because I - I thought I could deal with it on my own - you know, because I've read all about them. If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

“I would like to know why Miss Black was here,” Snape interrupts before anything else could be said.

“She was here when I came into the loo looking for the troll. And well, it found us when we weren’t expecting it,” Hermione answers quickly.

“And why is she like this?”

“She used a shielding charm that protected us.”

“A shield in response to a physical attack?” Professor McGonagall gasp, amazed and more than a little bit worried.

“Well - in that case...” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione left, glancing at Meissa worriedly as she was leaving.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

“Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

Meissa, with nothing to focus on, looks at her Head of House. Her exhaustion finally caught her up with her and before she could resist she was out.

~MJB~

Meissa was back on her feet after a two day visit to the hospital wing - a visit that would have ended in murder had Madam Pomfrey had not been persuaded by Snape. As it was she was saved from Meissa’s ire and Meissa’s energy was back to normal.

Now in November it has been nearly three weeks since the fight between her and Daphne. Meissa’s mood has become so bad no one was safe from her. Draco was constantly walking on eggshells around her. Pansy, whenever Meissa catches her cornering Daphne, was mostly left alone. But late at night, when no one is awake, Meissa would cast a spell that would give her nightmare - nothing so severe that she’d die in her sleep. But enough that it would keep her from sleeping comfortably.

In addition to the night terrors Meissa also added minor charms that would affect her appearances. Some are triggered by simple actions, such as sneezing or other bodily functions, while others are triggered by words or phrases. Once, Pansy’s appearance took on stripes that made her seem like a candy cane. That one had amused Meissa the most.

Though her actions were small and spiteful it still did not improve relations between Daphne and Meissa.

It had gotten so bad, the silence between them, that Draco actually had enough and arranged for both to meet him in an abandoned classroom near the middle courtyard.

Meissa was first to arrive and she was testing the weight of one of the desks - the professor’s from the look and shape of it - when the door opened again. “Draco, what was it you wanted?” she asks as she continues to test her weight against the ancient desk. It wobbled for a moment but remained firm despite her efforts.

“Um…”

Meissa looks up at the voice - it wasn’t Draco.

“Why are you here?” Meissa questions as she puts her weight against the desk.

“Your cousin sent me here…”

Meissa eyes the blonde, frowning when she sees small blemishes of half healed bruises and the likes. “What could he be planning,” she mumbles quietly to herself, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Meissa…” The Black heiress barely glance at her but didn’t respond. “Meissa, I’m sorry.”

“What for,” the girl mutters, “You were right. It’s your life, who am I to butt in.”

“That isn’t what I meant!”

Meissa jumps up from her spot on the desk, startling the blonde. “YOU WANTED ME TO LEAVE YOU ALONE!” she screams, “GUESS WHAT, THAT’S WHAT I BLOODY DID!”

“Meissa!” They suddenly heard someone snap. Meissa, beyond pissed, turns towards the person who interrupted her - a curse on the tip of her tongue. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I called this meeting.”

“Draco,” Meissa growls, “Just what were you thinking?!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Draco backs away from his intimidating cousin - maybe he miscalculated this. “Meissa, calm down!”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” The outburst was accompanied by a wave of magic that shoved everything away from her. “YOU’RE NOTHING! NOTHING YOU HEAR ME! NOTHING!!” With every word she screamed there was a pulse of magic that shoved things away from her even further.

“Daphne, get down!”

Meissa grabs the nearest chair and hurls it at a wall, the thing shattering at impact. She screamed and threw things until she reached the professor’s desk and - instead of attempting to throw it or do some kind of damage to it - she drops to her knees. Her breath short and hard, eyes tightly squeezed shut as she presses her face against the desk, her bleeding knuckles against the fabric of her trousers.

She was exhausted.

Shuddering she pulls herself into a corner and wraps her arms around her drawn legs - her eyes dark and studying her surroundings.

“Is it over?” Daphne whispers quietly when she doesn’t hear anything.

“I don’t know,” Draco confesses quietly. “Sometimes the silence means she wore herself out. But it could mean that she will start again once she has her strength back.”

“This happens a lot?” Daphne was shocked and more than a little bit worried.

“It’s gotten worse actually.”

“I can hear you,” Meissa mutters, pressing a hand to her throat. Her pulse was pounding so quickly as she tried to even out her breathing.

“Welcome back,” she hears Draco remark.

“Sorry,” she whispers as she rests her head against the wall behind her, shuddering. “You’ve…” she doesn’t continue, her exhaustion tugging at her.

“Why is she like this?” Daphne asks quietly as she peered around a desk they had used as shelter.

“She did just exhaust herself magically and physically,” Draco remarks as he stood, eying his cousin he notes that she was close to falling asleep. “Not many would be able to do all that and still stay awake.”

Daphne looks worriedly at the Black heiress before she rubs her face tiredly. “Why did you arrange for this?”

“To speak frankly, this -,” he gestures between the two girls, “wall between the two of you. It’s driving everyone bonkers.” He gestures at Meissa, “Everyone has been walking on eggshells around her because the slightest thing causes her to lash out.” He gestures to Daphne who raises an eyebrow at him. “And I’m sure you’ve noticed that everyone has been giving you a wide berth - everyone except for Parkinson.”

Daphne nods her head - she had noticed that. “What about it?”

Draco gives her a look that indicated that he thought his point was fairly obvious.

“Wait, you think that everyone was avoiding me to keep from pissing off Meissa?”

The blonde boy crosses his arms. “You clearly have no idea what you mean to my cousin.”

“Malfoy…”

“Draco, you need to learn how to keep your trap shut,” Meissa was awake, sleepy but awake. Her hand was rubbing her face, trying to rub the sleep out of her face.

“That was a short nap,” Daphne remarks, noting not for the first time that the other girl rarely ever sleep for long. Other that one time when Meissa had fallen asleep without casting a silencing charm around her bed there were times when Daphne woke up in the middle of night to find the other girl sitting at the window, staring out into the depths of the lake.

“Can’t sleep,” Was Meissa’s short answer - an answer Daphne was familiar with. She eyes the two of them before shaking her head and made for the door.

“Wait, we still need to sort out the two of you”Draco says, looking sternly at his cousin or as sternly as he could.

“I’m not interested in sorting anything out, Draco.”

“But you have to!”

She looks at him with her dark eyes. “I don’t have to do anything,” she huffs. “Greengrass made her decision. You should try abiding by them.”

Meissa makes an attempt to shove past her cousin but before her hand could touch the doorknob she heard her name. “I’m sorry!”

“What?” she turns partially to look at the blonde girl.

“I’m sorry.”

Meissa eyes the girl for a moment, unsure of what to make of the apology. “But-.”

“You were only looking out for me,” Daphne interrupts. “I just… I got worried. I didn’t want you in trouble because of me. I couldn’t bare it if your family told you that we couldn’t be friends.”

Meissa frowns in confusion at the blonde before she looks at her cousin. He shrugs his shoulders, unsure of what the other girl was saying.

“Daphne, my family is,” she pause to try and find a word that best fit the situation. “It’s fractured,” she finally concludes.” I answer to no one except a few,” she adds in before she threw open the door.

She didn’t want to talk about her family - not now or ever.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the courtyard - supervised by a random professor - casting spells after spells at the practice dummies at the other end of the courtyard. As she cast her spells she alternated the pace of her casting.

Dressed in a white tunic and black trousers, she was dressed for a spar that will never come. The fact her hair was braided back from her face meant that anyone could see the sweat on her face as she cast her spells. The afternoon sun was scorching her and sometimes she couldn’t breathe because she was so focused on the spells that she forgets to relax.

With her anger fueling her she fires off several spells at once that destroyed two of the dummies and sliced another into halves.

Panting she studies the damage she had inflicted before she glances at the professor watching her. It was the DADA professor and he looked like he was positively melting under the sun. And it was clear to her to her that he had no intention of repairing the damaged dummies.

“Reparo,” she intones forcefully, the dummies mending with a flick of her wand. There was some resistance with the third dummy - the one that had been sliced in two - but with a second Reparo it was back in prime condition. (2)

“Meissa,” she hears someone call and when she looks over her shoulder she sees that it’s Daphne.

“What you want?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“What is there to talk about?”

Daphne got close enough to grab Meissa’s wrist just as she was about to cast a spell, interrupting her as well as getting her attention.

“Please, Meissa, I made a mistake - I should’ve talked to you instead of trying to hide it,” the blonde pleas.

Meissa forces her wrist free, narrowing her eyes at the other girl. “Duel with me.”

“What?”

“Duel with me.”

“But why?” Meissa doesn’t answer except moving to a respectable distance from Daphne. “I don’t want to do this, Meissa.”

The Black heiress stood there, silent, before she adopts a battle stance. Daphne, scared for their wellbeing was reluctant to put her wand up but there was something in Meissa’s eyes that told her that the Black heiress wouldn’t hurt her intentionally.

She was scared that they were going to do something that would get them both hurt but there was something about what she was doing that told her to trust her.

So she raise her wand as she slides into a stance.

Neither of them made a move for a moment - until there was a strong gust of wind.

“Expelliarmus!” (3)

“Protego!” (4)

Meissa dances out of the way of the rebounded spell. “Incarcerous!” she intones, thick ropes flying from the tip of her wand and wrapped themselves securely around the blonde before she could even say anything. (5)

Meissa walks up close to the girl, her brow arched in amusement at the annoyed blonde. “You’re not very good at dueling, are you?” she inquires as she picks up the dropped wand. “What wood is this?” she asks out of curiosity, running her thumb along the 11¾ inch wand.

“Rowan,” Daphne answers before she squirmed a bit - the movement reminds the Black heiress that she needed to release the blonde from the binds.

“Finite Incantatem,” she intones, waving her wand over Daphne’s body. (6)

Once freed Daphne rubs her wrists, her eyes narrowed at the girl - just what was the point of the short lived duel? So she asks.

“I needed to see your skills,” Meissa mutters as she helps the blonde up, returning the wand to her. “So we need to try again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I have a better understanding of your skills.”

Daphne grimaces as the other girl returned to her previous spot. She didn’t see this ending well for her.

“This is going to be painful,” she mutters to herself before she assumes a dueling stance.

“Rule one,” Meissa starts, her stance unwavering, “disarm.”

“I know that.”

Meissa smirks and moved so quickly Daphne barely caught saw it. She didn’t have enough time to react as her wand flew out of her hand and into the other girl’s.

“Hey!” She didn’t even hear the incantation.

“Rule two, never let your guard down.”

Daphne glowers at her before catching her wand when it was tossed back at her.

“Meissa…”

“Just go along with me, Daphne, then I’ll consider us even.”

The blonde frowns as she takes up a stance again, her hand tightly holding her wand. She couldn’t see the point of them doing this - she’s been tied up, disarmed, and somehow she suspect that things was only going to get worse.

And she was fairly right.

Meissa was absolutely brutal - she disarmed her, flipped her three times in a row using flipendo tria, and used some sort of jinx that made her dance an Irish jig. Daphne tried and tried to beat Meissa in the duels but the closest she got to disarming Meissa was when she fired off two stinging hexes - one after another. (7)

But all that did was irritate the Black heiress - mostly because the second hex had hit her in the bum. Funny at the time, yes, but all it did was provoke the girl into chaining her spells even faster than Daphne could put up a shield.

So it went on and on and on until the bell rang for supper.

Both girls were sweaty and they both had grass stains on their clothes - Daphne more than Meissa - but when the blonde looked at her friend she saw that the other girl was smiling. She wasn’t sure how but the dueling had seemed to have healed the rift between them.

“Are we good now?” she asks, feeling more than a little bit cautious.

“Mm… In a way yes.”

“In a way?”

Meissa glances at her as they head towards the Great Hall. “I know now that if I leave you alone anyone could best you in a duel.”

“That’s hardly fair - you seem like you had advanced training!”

“I practice, all the time, hardly an advantage you seem to think I have.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, “The Incarcerous spell you used on me is a N.E.W.T. level spell.”

Meissa pauses at the reveal and a sheepish look crossed her face. Daphne could only reason that the other girl didn’t realize or know that the spell was advanced for her age. Which made her question just how did she come to know of the spell in the first place?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) **Protego Duo** \- Shielding charm double the strength
> 
> 2) **Reparo** \- Repairing charm
> 
> 3) **Expelliarmus** \- Disarming Spell
> 
> 4) **Protego** \- Shielding Charm
> 
> 5) **Incarcerous** \- conjures ropes to bind the target
> 
> 6) **Finite Incantatem** \- General Counter-Spell
> 
> 7) **Flipendo Tria** \- knockback curse times three


	9. Gryffindor & Slytherin Alliance?

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost.

Meissa - not one to care about the Quidditch season - had to listen to her cousin complain and moan about the fact that Potter had gotten into the Quidditch team. The fact that Harry was a first year often rankled for her cousin. Meissa, on the other hand, couldn’t care less that Harry was even on the team, she was simply tired of listening to Draco whine about it.

Despite not caring about the Quidditch matches at all, Meissa was convinced to join the others in watching the first match of the season: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

It was Friday, the day before the first match, Meissa was invited to join Hermione and her newfound friends in the Fountain Courtyard. The boys were still cold towards her but they came to realize - after Hermione told them the reason why she had been there in the first place - that she was someone who could be trusted at the very least.

She still wasn’t happy with the redhead about his attitude towards Hermione but if the girl in question was willing to forgive Weasley for his less than stellar behavior then he has a temporary pardon from her.

As it was Meissa was more than a bit grateful for the bit of warmth Hermione managed to conjure up. The bright blue fire, safely stored inside a jam jar of all things, was more than enough keep their backs warm.

Meissa was studying a chapter in one of the textbooks assigned to them when she heard them hiss a warning. Confused as to what could be bothering them she looks up to see that Snape was crossing the courtyard. At once she noticed that he was with a limp and she couldn’t remember if he had it the last time she had seen him. Then again, she hadn’t seen him since Halloween night.

It was like the sight of seeing Snape had prompted the trio to behave as if they had a secret, closing ranks in an effort to hide away the blue fire in a jar. And it was if the mere act summoned the professor over to them.

She was curious as to why he had a limp in the first place but she saw that he wouldn’t look at her in the eye, choosing instead to focus on the Gryffindors next to her.

“What’s that you got there, Potter?”

Meissa glances over to find that he was holding a text, the Quidditch Through the Ages.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” Snape all but sneered, “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”

“He’s just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as the potion master limped away. “Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?”

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” Ron muttered bitterly.

“Weasley, did you happen to forget that I’m here?” the Slytherin inquires, leaning forward to peer at the boy from around Hermione. She enjoyed the way his face paled before turning bright red from indignity.

Laughing Meissa leans back so that the jar was warm against her back, ignoring the pointed look Hermione gave her. Could she really be faulted for finding some amusement in this?

“Why didn’t he bother you? Or was it because you’re a Slytherin?” Hermione asks quietly.

“Mostly because I’m a Slytherin,” Meissa remarks, glancing up for a moment from her book. “But in part, it’s because you are Gryffindors.”

“So, he picks on us because we are Gryffindors?” Hermione asks.

“Well, I did mention that he went to Hogwarts, right?” Hermione nods her head. “Let’s just say that a group of Gryffindors may have picked on him a lot.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione whispers.

“I bet he got what he deserved,” Ron pipes up, prompting Meissa to roll her eyes.

“Sure, Weasley, please go on thinking that way,” Meissa sneered, standing. “Go on believing that a person can deserve being tormented. Perhaps, then, if I follow your logic, I should allow you to be tormented just for insulting the wrong person.”

“Meissa!” Hermione protests, standing up to follow the Slytherin girl.” He didn’t mean that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mione. He meant it,” the Black heiress shakes her head. “That boy isn’t worth having as a friend. I’m sorry but I can’t stand to be around him because I will hex him one way or another.”

Hermione frowns and grips the other girl’s elbow. “I’m sorry,” she mutters to the Slytherin. “See you tomorrow at the match?”

“Promise not to hate the other for whoever house wins the match?” Meissa asks cheekily.

“Yes. Now get going,” Hermione laughs, shaking her head in amusement as the Slytherin walks away.

“See you in the morning!” Meissa calls over her shoulder before she turned around to walk towards the Grand staircase.

~MJB~

Saturday was turning out to be very cold and very bright. Meissa was already supporting a pretty bad headache by the time breakfast rolled around - the Slytherins were loud and boisterous. Flint was a firm believer that the Gryffindor team - having Potter as Seeker - was destined to fail.

Meissa had no care for any of it but she did remember Hermione telling her that Harry was a natural flier. She could vaguely remember the incident that led to him being placed onto the Gryffindor team. So naturally she thought that Flint maybe underestimating the newest addition to their rival’s team.

Her headache was getting steadily worse until finally Meissa was forced to return to the dormitory to get one of the migraine potions. She was grateful that her godfather had finally restocked her potions but he gave her a stern lecture that she was to ration out her potions instead of consuming the whole of the vials.

In a way she understood why he didn’t want her consuming a month’s ration in a few weeks - the migraine potion was expensive to brew for one but it also had a potential to be an addictive.

By the time she made her way back to the first floor it was close to time for the first match to start. Daphne, thankfully, was waiting for her by the path and together they went to the Quidditch pitch. Daphne nearly shared the same opinion as Meissa in regards of the Quidditch game but Meissa had been talked into going by her cousin and Daphne had been convinced to come along at Meissa’s behalf.

The climb up to the seats was more than a little bit ridiculous but the view. The view was more than enough to make up for the work out though. The only problem was that only one of them had binoculars and Draco wasn’t willing to share his precious binoculars.

“Does anyone know how to use the Doubling charm?” Meissa asks, pulling her wand out of its’ holster.

“How do you even know of that spell?” Daphne questions as Meissa was trying to remember the incantation.

“Family spell tomes,” Draco suggests unsurely.

“Ah!” the Black heiress snaps her fingers suddenly, startling Draco and Daphne. “Geminio!” (1)

The binocular replicates itself once, twice before she flicks her wand to the side to end the spell.

“This won’t last for too long,” Meissa remarks as she hands the copy off to Daphne and the original to her cousin. “But for our purpose, it’ll do.”

“Sometimes you scare me,” Daphne comments, “Knowing all these spells long before we’re supposed to know them.”

“Mother said Aunt Bellatrix believed in being prepared for anything,” Draco chips in as he eyes the events happening down near the ground. The match was yet to begin and he was eager for it to start - not wanting to miss one second of it.

Meissa was looking around when she spotted the Gryffindor’s towers. Curious she studied the thing that was flapping in the air, peering through the binoculars for a better look. She squints through the binoculars and it takes her a moment to realize what it was she was seeing. It was a large banner that said ‘Potter for President’ with a large Gryffindor lion painted underneath the words.

The paint was also flashing different colors. When she focused on the Gryffindors behind it, securing it to the posts, she saw that Hermione was there. She was there, scarf and all, with Ron, the Longbottom boy, the half-blood Finnigan boy, and another boy she couldn’t recognize. She couldn’t help but find herself amused by their antics.

“It’s starting!” she hears Draco calls out in the midst of cheers and looks down to see that the Slytherin team had finally flown out onto the field. The Gryffindor team soon joined them and formed a circle around Madam Hooch, the referee, who stood there broom in hand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -”

“JORDAN!” Meissa laughs at the indignant and stern shout Professor McGonagall was able of.

“Sorry, Professor.”

And it continued, with Jordan commenting on the process, and Meissa watching the game absent-mindedly. She was hardly listening when suddenly she heard Jordan shout, “GRYFFINDORS SCORE BY ANGELINA JOHNSON!”

The sound of the Gryffindors cheering was loud in the air while the howls and moans of the Slytherins filled her ears.

Meissa ignored them and kept an eye on Harry, watching him glide high above everyone else, his movements suggesting that he was on the lookout for the Golden Snitch. Someone had hit a Bludger his way once but he was able to dodge out of the way and one of the Weasley twins - the Gryffindor’s beaters - came chasing after it.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?”

“Blurt it out why don’t you,” Meissa mutters quietly though she did enjoy a laugh at Pucey dropping the Quaffle. She had no doubt that Flint will be on him about that after the match.

Harry had seen it. Meissa gripped the wood in front of her as she watched him dive down after the streak of gold. Her eyes just barely following the streak itself.

She was so focused on watching the streak that she never saw Flint blocking Harry on purpose, causing him to spin off course with the Seeker holding on for dear life.

The Gryffindors roar with outrage while Meissa growls - silently vowing to get the Sixth Year for this.

She was so busy plotting her attack that she didn’t hear Daphne calling her name until someone touched her elbow. Jolting her out of her thoughts and into the present.

“Daphne?”

“Are you okay?” the girl asks worriedly, “You weren’t responding.”

“Um… sorry, I was thinking,” the Black heiress excuses, glancing down at the field to find that Madam Hooch was speaking angrily to Flint.

“What were you thinking about?”

“… What I might need to do to make our dear captain pay for his… indiscretions,” Meissa remarks darkly.

“You are aware it’s a Quidditch match, correct?”

Meissa waves off her comments and focused instead on the free shot that was given to the Gryffindor team as a result, glancing up to where Harry was still flying.

Meissa was barely listening to Jordan at all but she did tune in to him commenting about Flint’s actions.

“So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-.”

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul-.”

“Jordan, I'm warning you -”

Meissa starts snickering, enjoying the commentary, before she looks up towards Harry. She ignores the action again in favor of focusing on Harry. She watched him dodge a Bludger that went dangerously close to his head.

That’s when she saw something.

Harry’s broom suddenly lurched, causing Meissa to grab the railing underneath her hands. She bites her thumb as she curse softly to herself. Harry’s broom was starting to buck and turn uncontrollably, each violent move nearly unseating the Seeker.

“What’s going on?” Daphne asks, following her gaze to the Seeker.

“I don’t know,” Meissa mutters quietly, tense as she watched Harry struggled to stay on the broom. “But whatever it is, it isn’t good.” He was raising steadily higher, away from the game.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

“Harry…”

Draco was pointing to the Gryffindor in question, “What’s up with him now?”

“Whatever it is, it has to be Dark Magic,” Meissa mutters tensely, “Nothing else could compromise a broom like this.”

“Again you worry me,” Daphne comments as she peers up at the seeker in trouble.

The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

“Bloody hell,” Meissa curses as she struggled to keep herself from intervening.

The broom tossed and turned a few more time before stilling enough for Harry to swing himself back onto his broom.

“He’s safe!” Daphne grabs Meissa’s arm, shaking her a few time as she laughs in relief. Meissa, feeling the same way, laughed with her while Draco rolled his eyes at their antics.

Meissa was laughing when she cuts herself off, realizing that Harry had gone into a dive.

“Look!” she points out what he was doing.

He and the Slytherin Seeker were racing head to head towards the ground and when Meissa looked ahead of them she saw that they were chasing the snitch. The Slytherin seeker was first to back out and as Meissa held her breath Harry pulls out of the dive at the last possible second. Avoiding a collision with the ground and he was still on the tail of the snitch!

She watched as he stood on his broom, precariously balancing himself as he reached for the snitch. Meissa grabs the binoculars and peered through them.

“No, you idiot, you’re going too far!” she mutters lowly to herself, watching him inch his way forward on his broom. Just like she predicted he topples off his broom, tumbling onto the ground.

He gets up and lurches.

The crowd gasps as Meissa stares in disbelief. “That didn’t just happen,” she mutters out loud to herself.

“He looks like he’s going to ralph!” Daphne comments, lowering her binoculars - she was unsure if she wanted to be sick or not.

Harry lurches and the Snitch pops out of his mouth. It lands in his hands.

“He's got the Snitch! Harry Potter receives 150 points for catching the Snitch!”

“Gryffindor win!” Madam Hooch proclaims with a blast of her whistle.

“No!” Draco exclaims in disbelief while Meissa laughs out loud at what just occurred.

“Well, that was an unexpected twist,” she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’ll say,” Daphne agrees as she slides a hand into Meissa’s, startling the other girl, and pulled her through the crowd so that they could reach the ground before they could be swamped by the other students.

It was once when they were on the grounds that Meissa yanked free her hand with a barely suppressed shudder. Daphne saw this and despite how much she wanted to she didn’t say a word about it.

“Meissa!” They suddenly heard someone calling out.

The Slytherins paused in their walking to look for the person. It was Hermione and she was hurrying along to them with Ron trudging along reluctantly.

“Meissa!” the Gryffindor girl calls, gripping the Black heiress’ hands. “Meissa, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” the girl asks worriedly, glancing over her shoulder at Daphne.

Hermione followed her gaze to the blonde, before frowning. “Can she be trusted?”

“Daphne? Of course.”

Meissa didn’t see her but Daphne was smiling gratefully at the raven-haired girl.

“Okay, come with me. Both of you. I think you should hear this.”

With that Hermione was rushing off towards a small cottage near the Forbidden Forest.

“What are we doing?” Daphne asks quietly.

“Apparently we’re going to the groundkeeper’s cottage,” Meissa remarks drily before she follows after the Gryffindor.

“Yeah but why? What could she possibly want with us?”

“We’ll see when we get there I suppose.”

“That does not reassure me at all.”

“I don’t think I meant for it to.”

Daphne huffs and smacks Meissa on the shoulder, causing the other girl to burst into laughter.

“Well, come on then, let’s go see what Granger wants with us,” Daphne mutters, squaring her shoulders and looking every bit of a person who was preparing to go to war.

“You don’t have to look that severe,” Meissa cackles, shaking her head at the blonde.

“For all you know this is exactly what I have to look like.”

“Oh you’re just being silly now.”

“Meissa, Daphne, hurry up!”

In little time at all they caught up with Hermione who was waiting impatiently by the cottage’s door. Not that they were there with her she pushes into the cottage and joins Harry and Ron who was already seated and sipping at the tea Hagrid had given them.

“What are they doing there?” Ron sneers when he saw them.

Meissa wasn’t paying him any attention, ignoring him, but behind her Daphne practically bristled at the redhead’s tone.

“Ron! I invited them!” Hermione snaps before Daphne could so much say a word.

“They’re Slytherins!”

“Ron, enough,” Harry interrupts, tired and still waiting for them to tell him why they had to meet at Hagrid’s cottage.

“Nice catch of the Snitch, Potter,” Meissa compliments with a wicked grin.

“Thanks,” Harry replies slowly, prompting a laugh out of Meissa.

Hagrid, having been silent since the Slytherins’ arrival, finally got up - towering over the 11 year olds - and asked the duo if they wanted a cup of tea. Daphne declined almost immediately while Meissa accepted the offer but declined the offer of rock cakes.

After everyone has been seated there was still tension in everyone - though it was mostly ignored by Meissa who quite frankly didn’t care what Ron and Harry thought of her on most days.

“So, anyone wish to explain to us why we’re here?” Meissa asks bluntly. She wasn’t in a mood to talk in circles.

“These two have a theory as to why Harry’s broom went all crazy,” Hagrid clarifies.

“That was scary,” Daphne remarks, shuddering at the thought. Meissa glances at her before she shakes her head - looks like she’ll have to work double time to convince the blonde to get back on a broom.

“So what’s the theory?” Meissa asks before Ron could get a rude remark in.

“It was Snape,” the redhead starts, “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you.”

The Slytherins’ eyebrows rose at the accusation. Did they really just accuse their head of house?

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid.” Why would Snape do somethin' like that?”

“I have to agree with Hagrid on this one,” Meissa pipes up. “Why would Professor Snape do something that would jeopardize a student’s life?” she shakes her head. “He’s a lot of things and he might not like students but it doesn’t mean he’d hurt one.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another while Meissa and Daphne glance at each other, wondering what their big secret is.

“I found out something about him,” he told the group present. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Meissa exclaims just as Hagrid dropped the teapot. Snape trying to get past a three headed dog and whatever its guarding?

“How do you know about Fluffy?” Hagrid questioned in shock.

“Fluffy?” They chorused. Daphne was just lost - a three headed dog?

Meissa, when she glances at her friend, saw that she was completely and utterly lost and leaned in to explain what had happened a while back.

“Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-,” Hagrid cuts himself off.

“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.

“Now, don't ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That's top secret, that is.”

“But Snape's trying to steal it.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid again. “Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort.”

Meissa was thinking to herself, trying to figure out what, if any, motive Snape would have to try and bypass a Cerberus. As interested he was in DADA he would know how dangerous the hellhound is.

Though she did have to question Hagrid’s naming skills - a huge aggressive Cerberus named Fluffy? Yeah, not intimidating at all.

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid. I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!”

“Wait, wait,” Meissa interrupts, catching that last bit. “What makes you so sure he wasn’t trying to use a counter-jinx?”

“The broom stopped when I set fire to his robes!”

Meissa thought hard about this particular bit of information. “What if, what if the person who was doing the jinx was in the same tower as him?” she muttered quietly. She looks over at Daphne who seems like she agreed with Meissa’s assessment.

“It’s plausible sure but I didn’t see anyone else!”

“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t,” Daphne remarks.

Harry was silent, watching everyone gathered while Ron was struggling with a rock cake.

“Until we have proof that Snape is innocent I still say he was trying to kill Harry!”

“I’m tellin' yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly before Meissa could say a word in Snape’s defense. “I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel -”

“Aha!” said Harry, “So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Meissa just looked impressed and a touch bit concerned - Hagrid was not a very good secret keeper.

Something else was up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) **Geminio** \- Doubling Spell
> 
>  


	10. Leaving on a Train

Meissa was thinking, thinking about everything that had been said about Snape. She still believed in his innocence. But there was still a question about why he would attempt to bypass a Cerberus.

Now that she knew that the Cerberus was there to guard something and that it had something to do with Nicolas Flamel - the name was familiar even if she had no idea why. So in the weeks since the first match, when she wasn’t in the library helping Hermione or doing homework, she was pulling double time to keep Harry out of trouble with Draco.

Draco had turned nasty towards Potter after Slytherin’s defeat. The 170-60 point lost was a sore spot for the blonde and he had no qualms about taking it out on Potter. He once tried to mock Harry by saying something about a wide-mouthed tree frog - it didn’t really make much sense to her. When that flopped he fell back to taunting Harry about his lack of a family.

In all honestly it was annoying in Meissa’s opinion - she wanted to smack her cousin for making things unnecessarily difficult for her. She also wanted to make him realize that had things gone another way he would’ve been fatherless as well. Just like she was parentless.

Sometimes she thinks he doesn’t pay attention as well as he should - his words cutting deeper than he probably realized.

In any rate it was the day before the winter break and Meissa was looking forward to the celebration. She might not like her Uncle Lucius but she has to admit that celebrating Yule with the Malfoys has always been an interesting experience. Whenever her Uncle Sevy - and guardian - was far too busy to come back home she stays over at the Malfoy manor. On Yule mornings - as well as Christmas mornings - her Aunt Cissy would wake Draco and her up before dawn and they would go up to the top of the tower to watch the sun climb high into the skies.

She was honestly looking forward to it.

“Meissa,” she hears as she was finishing up the last of her packing. She would’ve been done sooner but she had spent at least fifteen minutes debating if she wanted to take a small suitcase or her trunk. In the end she decided she wanted to pack light and chose the suitcase, packing a few days worth of clothes and her homework. Of course she, to be safe, placed an extra strong locking spell on her trunk - as well as various other jinxes and curses that would discourage just about anyone except the determined.

Looking over her shoulder she sees that it was Daphne, firmly drying her wet hair.

“Yes?”

“Did you have any luck looking up Flamel?”

“Nothing yet,” the raven-haired girl replies as she glances towards the door. “He’s proving to be a very elusive wizard.”

“Are you sure he’s a wizard?”

“Has to be,” Meissa remarks, braiding her hair back. The bangs that refused to cooperate she braided into smaller braids. With a flick of her wand the braids stayed together without tying them off. “Hagrid said that it was between Dumbledork and Flamel.” She makes a vague gesture, “You’ve seen how Professor Dumbledork dresses. There’s no way he’d fit in with the Muggle world.”

“Dumbledork?” Daphne repeats with disbelieving snort, just barely resisting the urge to laugh.

“I could call him Dumbledumb but it’s rather repetitive.” This has Daphne giggling despite her best efforts. Meissa just smirks at the ashen blonde, more than a bit pleased to get a reaction from the other girl.

“So if he’s not in Hogwarts’ library where could he be?” Daphne asks after she managed to get her giggles under control.

“I don’t know. It’s possible that he was in the library but someone checked out the book,” Meissa theorizes.

“If that’s the case, what do you plan to do?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders. She had a funny feeling that she read something about him before. “Nothing can be done at the moment,” she confesses. “The winter break is tomorrow so I’ll check the library at the Black Manor when I can get away.”

“Get away?” Daphne looks confused, “Where are you going if not home?”

“I’ll be staying at the Malfoys over the break.” Meissa shrugs her shoulders.

Daphne looks worriedly at the other girl - she sounded like she spent a lot of her time at her cousin’s place.

“If I was to invite you, would you come to my house for Yule someday?”

Meissa stares at the blonde, surprised by the question. “I…” she didn’t know how to answer that. She remembered the last time she had gone over to a friend’s home - she didn’t want that to happen again.

“Someday,” she finally mutters.

“I’ll take that,” Daphne tells her quietly, smiling when the tensed girl looks at her in the eye.

She didn’t smile back, choosing instead to grab her books and made a dash out of the room. Daphne, left behind, could only shake her head - she should’ve expected that kind of reaction from the girl.

~MJB~

Meissa was walking with her cousin after potions, giving her cousin the cold shoulder again after what he had said in class. Sometimes he could be such a thoughtless prat.

“Meissa,” Draco hisses at the raven-haired girl, trying once again to get her attention.

“What?!”

“Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

“Draco, if I have to tell you then bugger off.”

“This isn’t fair and you know it!”

“Fair?!” she whirls around on him, her dark brown eyes turning impossibly darker. “You really want to talk about fair? How about this, how is it fair that you keep bringing up Potter’s lack of parents!”

Draco splutters at her words, perhaps realizing the crux of the problem.

“You, dear cousin of mine,” she practically snarls, “Are a real piece of work.” With that she storms off, ignoring her cousin’s calls behind her.

In little to no time at all she had joined the Gryffindors though they had left the classroom earlier. Though once she looked past them she saw that a very large fir tree was blocking the corridor. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom - along with a loud puffing sound - told her that it was Hagrid.

“Ello,” she mutters in greeting to Hermione while Ron asked Hagrid if he needed help.

“Nah, I’m alright, thanks Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them.

Meissa tensed at her cousin’s voice and she could see out of the corner of her eyes that he was eying her. She silently brushes her robe back and palms the handle of her wand, her body poised for just about anything.

“Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose - that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.”

Meissa drew her wand just as Ron dived at Malfoy. She barely had time to utter a word when Snape came up the stairs.

“WeASLEY!”

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin' his family.”

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily, his eyes sweeping over the students gathered. He did not miss the fact that Meissa had her wand drawn and when their gaze met she silently holstered it. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you.”

Needing no further encouragement Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere - smirking at the Gryffindors. Snape gives the Gryffindors one last look before he leaves in another direction.

“I'll get him,” said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, “one of these days, I'll get him -”

“Going after Draco is only fuel his vendetta,” Meissa pipes up towards Ron with Hermione nodding in agreement.

“I hate them both,” said Harry, “Malfoy and Snape.” Meissa frowns thoughtfully at the boy but stayed mum about it.

“Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid. “Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

The boys were quick to follow them and when Meissa hesitated Hermione slid her hand into hers and, with a reassuring smile, she pulled the Slytherin girl into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree - put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“Aunt Cissy wasn’t kidding when she said that Hogwarts tend to go all out for Christmas,” Meissa remarks in awe.

“Aunt Cissy?” Hermione asks while Harry and Ron were taking in the sights.

“Draco’s mum. Aunt Narcissa - Cissy as I like to call her - and my mother are sisters,” Meissa clarifies.

“Oh, I see,” Hermione nods. “Maybe one day we’ll meet.”

Meissa grimaced at the thought of their meeting. “I don’t believe that would be a good idea,” she confesses and when she sees the confusion in Hermione’s face she tries to find the right words to clarify the situation to the other girl. “My aunt, as much as I love her, doesn’t… well, she doesn’t approve of muggleborns.”

Hermione frowns. “Oh.”

Meissa gives her a quick one arm hug that left Hermione wondering if that actually happened.

“Meissa.” The raven-haired girl looks at her. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well… your aunt, you just said she doesn’t…”

Meissa gives her an odd look.

“She’s only my aunt, Hermione. As much as I love her I won’t let her dictate who I become friends with.”

Hermione gave her a grateful smile. The topic exhausted - for the time being she suspects - the girls tune back into the boys’ conversation in time to overheard Hagrid asking them a question.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just one,” said Hermione. “And that reminds me - Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you're right,” said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

Meissa was curious as to what spell he was using to produce the golden bubbles - she had a thought that her Aunt Cissy might appreciate the help decorating the tree.

“The library?” said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?”

“They’re not working,” Meissa injects. “We’ve been scouring the library for anything on him since you mentioned him last time.” Harry nodded in agreement.

“You what?” Hagrid looked shocked. “Listen here - I've told yeh - drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all,” said Hermione.

“Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry added. “We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere - just give us a hint - I know I've read his name somewhere.” Meissa had to concur with him on that but she suspect that their sources may have been different.

“I’m sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

“Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” said Ron and with that the trio left Hagrid looking disgruntled. Meissa, who told them that she was going to join them later, smiled at the half-giant before leaving in search for Daphne.

~MJB~

Meissa was quiet, sitting in one of the compartments on the Hogwarts Express Train, staring out of the window. She was disappointed that she couldn’t spend the winter break with her Uncle Sevy but she knew that he had been worried about something for the past few months.

While she wasn’t completely sold to the idea that Snape was trying to get past the Cerberus she did know that something was up.

Dumbledore had brought in something, something related to the vault that was broken into before the start of the term - according to what Hermione had told her after the meeting. Whatever that item was she had to agree with Harry that it was hidden in Hogwarts, likely just past the Cerberus hellhound. And despite what Hagrid might think a Cerberus is a dangerous magical creature.

The presence of a Cerberus INSIDE Hogwarts Castle let alone the grounds was a serious problem. To her that meant the item itself was probably a dangerous relic - which leads to her questioning Dumbledore’s competences. Placing a dangerous item inside a school housing students as young as eleven is a foolish idea, no matter how secure the school is supposed to be. If the item itself is not dangerous then the person after the item - someone made that break in attempt after all - was a dangerous person.

Regardless of which case it was she could only conclude that Dumbledore was being reckless.

And somehow she couldn’t help but think that her uncle was involved. Maybe not in the manner the Gryffindors believe but in a manner. She remembered her uncle telling her that the Headmaster trusted him - perhaps too much in any other person’s opinion.  If Dumbledore trusted her uncle to involve him in whatever defenses he may have put up then it’s likely he involved others.

In order to keep a secret just that it was wise to only tell one other person the nature of the secret. But Meissa had a low opinion of the headmaster and had no doubt that he involved other professors in the formation of the defenses.

If Fluffy the Cerberus was ever bypassed then there would be nothing to keep the item, whatever it might be, safe from the wrong hands. And if she had to place a bet she would say that the headmaster had set up exactly seven lines of defense to the item. That of itself meant the involvement of at least seven instructors - though she hardly considered Hagrid an instructor so maybe seven staff members.

And of those staff members one of them would likely know what the item is and could covet it for themselves.

The more she thought about it the more it made sense. And the more it made sense the more she wondered why Dumbledore would put the entire student body at risk. Because chances were that the information could slip out to the wizarding world or at the very least attract the wrong kind of attention if someone had a loose tongue - someone like Hagrid…

Disturbed by her line of thought Meissa grabs a book and, flipping it open to a random page, started reading to distract herself. She didn’t want to think about the strangeness of Hogwarts and the peculiars of its’ Headmaster. Because, if she had to be frank, she didn’t trust the old wizard - anyone who deliberately puts another in risk was immediately placed in her book.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the midst of an intense migraine by the time the train rolled in at King’s Cross Station. The winter break was shaping up to be a fine holiday indeed. She just wanted to hide away in her room at the Black Manor but no, of course not. She had to go to the Malfoy Manor which of course means she’ll be spending time in the presence of her Uncle Lucius for most if not all of the winter break.

By the time her Aunt Narcissa showed up - fashionably late of course - Meissa was in no mood for pleasantries.

“Draco, Meissa, I hope your first term went well?” Narcissa asks as she kissed her son’s forehead. She made to do the same when she sees the dark look on her niece’s face. Instead of touching her she simply smiles at the irritable girl. “Did you get a migraine on the train, dear?”

“Is it really that bloody obvious?” the girl practically growls. If she had been any other person she would’ve earned a slap for her insolence. As it was, because of who she is she got a look that warned her that she was close to crossing the line.

Meissa scowls to herself and accepts the outstretched arm alongside with Draco who grips his mother from the other side. If Narcissa noticed the coldness between the two she most certainly didn’t comment on it. Instead she took them straight home, the cousins traveling with her via side-along apparition.

The familiar squeeze through a small tight space left Meissa breathless and once they had reached the Malfoy manor Meissa stumbles away from her aunt, fighting the urge to empty her stomach. No matter how many time she side-apparates with someone she could never get used to the sensation. Maybe when she learns how to apparate it’ll be easier on her stomach but until then she couldn’t help but feel ill every time.

“Meissa, dear, are you going to keep the glamour up?” Narcissa asks as she hands her cloak to  a house-elf.

She was just about to head up the stairs when she heard the question and was reminded that she had cast a semi-permanent glamour over her appearance to keep people from asking questions.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she mutters gruffly before she removes her earrings as she headed up to the East Wing. There she went to the room clearly marked by a cluster of ten stars in the exact layout of the Orion constellation.

She stood in front of the door and traced the groove, finding the star which she was named after. She then found the star that held her mother’s name. “Mom…” she mutters quietly to herself before she connects the stars to form the constellation. Her fingertip blazing a trail across the wood until finally the constellation temporarily filled in to form the image of a young warrior with a sword lifting a lion up with one hand.

Once the door unlocked she twists the knob, pushing the door open just as the image faded back into a cluster of stars. One day she’s going to need to remember to thank her Aunt Cissy for the wards on her room in the same manner as her bedroom in the Black Manor.

Once inside the safety of her room she grabs a small silver case in the shape of a star, shutting the small wing shaped earrings away for the entirety of the winter break. Now that they were sealed away she goes to the wardrobe and pulls out a change of clothes.

She was tempted to wear her usual clothes - trousers and a casual button up shirt - but she knew that her aunt would get upset with her for wearing something so laid back. She never cared about appearances but rather comfort - a habit her aunt sorely wished she could eliminate from her niece.

She was stripping off her shirt when she notices an uncovered mirror, affording her an unwanted look.

Her raven locks had lightened up to a shade of brown highlighted with a tint of red. Her skin, while still retaining its pale hue, had adopted a bit more healthy color, but every scar that was hidden by the glamour was now in stark relief against her skin.

Some were small, some were fairly large, and there was more than a few burns. Some of the scars were long and no matter how she looks at them it was clear that they were deliberate. The smaller scars were not as noticeable but they were still fairly large.

Most of them were on her back and she was grateful she couldn’t see them but the ones she could see were often the reason why she bothered with the glamours.  Though the hair and skin color changes was suggested by her aunt - what better way to hide her parentage.

In her opinion she saw no point in it but she hadn’t been able to deny her aunt much - except the dresses, that bit she’ll deny for the entirety of her life.

Meissa, after staring at the mirror for who knows how long, scowls at her image before intoning the incantation for the blasting curse - hardly flinching when the broken shards bit into her skin.

Though she did frown at the specks of blood that dotted her shirt - that had been a waste of clean clothes.

She was eyeing the shirt when she hears a distinctive crack of an apparition.

“Mistress Narcissa sent Menny to young Mistress.” She looks down to the elf that just popped into her room, seeing the wide eyes that held concern for her. It was clear to her that the elf had already seen the blood on her. “Do Young Mistress wish for Menny to heal Young Mistress?”

“No, Menny,” Meissa answers shortly, strengthening her shirt.

“Can Menny clean?”

“Be specific.”

“Mistress’ shirt has blood. Menny can clean it.”

Meissa glances at the house-elf before she shakes her head. The elf’s wide eyes were hopeful for a job from her and she notes with distaste that Menny had old healing scrapes along her spindly arms and legs. The old ratty pillowcase that served as Menny’s outfit looked worse than usual.

It would appear that Lucius was abusing his elves again - to her growing irritation. 

“Thank you but no.” She pats Menny on the head as she opens the door. She was just about to leave the room when she thought of something and turned to look at the small creature. “Menny, I forbid you from cleaning my room.”

She watches the house-elf wring its ears with pity but when she watches her for a moment longer she saw that she was going to follow her orders. At least until she’s been counter-ordered by the mistress of the house.

“Meissa, what did you do to yourself!” she hears Draco exclaim, snapping her from her thoughts. She honestly hadn’t noticed that she was walking past his room. “You’re bleeding!”

She side-steps his attempt to touch the cut on her cheek, narrowing her eyes at him. Without saying a word she walks away from him - she didn’t want nothing to do with him.

“Meissa!”

~MJB~

Meissa was in the library, reading a book regarding magical creatures. The book listed the creatures from harmless to extremely dangerous and grouped them in accordance to their natural habitats. She found the book interesting and there were some creatures she found herself fascinated with.

The chimera fascinated her the most - though she couldn’t figure out why - with the dragons being a close second. If she had to pick a career she might pursue something to do with dragons. Or she could follow her godfather’s path and become a potion master. She knew from his constant complaints that not many have a talent for potion making and those who do often don’t consider potions to be their calling. But she did like to duel a lot so she could consider a life as an auror.

Though she suspects her aunt would throw a fit about any of the careers she was honestly considering.

“Meissa, dear, there you are,” the young girl hears as she was scribbling something down on a parchment. In between her readings of the magical creatures she was working on a rough idea for a spell - the search for Flamel inspiring her.

She scribbles the last few letters to the spell before she looks up to find that it was her aunt.

“Ello Aunt Cissy,” she greets, setting her quill down and marked her place in the book.

“You failed to show up for supper tonight,” the blonde woman remarks as she crosses the space between them. Her eyes narrowing when she sees the state her niece is in. The rips in her shirt and the blood staining the fabric. “What did you do?” she asks, her fingers plucking at the stained and frankly ruined shirt.

“Um… broke a mirror?” Meissa offers meekly. Now that she had time to calm down from the bout of… well, she wasn’t sure what it was but she knew that it wasn’t a good reaction.

“Now why would you do a thing like that?” Narcissa shakes her head as she cast a diagnosis spell over her.

“Mirror.”

Narcissa pauses in her spell work and eyes her niece. “We might have to separate the glamours in that case.”

“No, Aunt Cissy, it was hard enough to create a glamour over everything, separating them is just going to ruin the whole thing,” she protests, trying to turn her face away from her aunt’s hand.

“That’s the least of my concerns young lady,” Narcissa narrows her eyes at the girl who met her eyes defiantly. Meissa turned aside her aunt’s attempt to use Legilimency on her and gave her aunt a ‘not impressed’ look at the attempt. Narcissa doesn’t even have the decency to look remorseful for the attempt.

Meissa rolls her eyes at her aunt, “Can’t you just ask what you’re so worried about?”

Narcissa frowns at a persistent scratch on her niece’s face.

“I have many concerns,” Narcissa remarks as she tilts Meissa’s head to the side so she could peer at the thin gash. “But one of them would be this silence between you and my son.” She quickly finds the reason why her healing spells won’t work and with a bit of wand work the small sliver of the mirror was gone and the scratch healed without a mark.

“What of it.”

“Would you like to explain to me what happened between you and my son?”

Meissa made a face at the thought of rehashing the issue out with her aunt but knew from past experience that she wouldn’t let the issue go - something she always thought her mother would do if she was around. So she reluctantly answers her aunt’s question, going into details as her aunt demands.

Needless to say, her aunt wasn’t pleased with her son’s antics - doubly so for going along with his father’s credo.

 


	11. Quaero Bibliotheca Nicolas Flamel

Meissa was sitting in the sun room at the Malfoy Manor, scribbling and scratching out words as she tried to perfect the idea she came up with.

She had tried to use it the night before when a whole avalanche of books came down on her. It was only her quick thinking and an old sturdy desk that kept her from being crushed. She also had her aunt to thank for ordering Menny to keep a constant eye on her.

When her aunt found her trying to return the books to their places - Menny was a bit of a tattler - she got a bit of scolding for trying to invent her own spell without consulting her or an adult at the very least. Apparently she needed to work on her Latin a bit more.

Day two in her winter break and she was already stressed out about being around Lucius for twenty-four hours. She wanted to go home and just hideaway in her bedroom with a few books.

She was still tempted to make an escape from the manor anyway - but knew that she had no way of keeping her aunt out of the house and from taking her back. The best she could do was try and endure the week until after Christmas - and the ball her aunt was likely already planning - to make her escape.

It didn’t mean she had to enjoy it anyway.

“Young Mistress,” she hears.

“Menny.”

“Mistress calls for Young Mistress,” the house-elf tells her nervously, wringing her ears. Meissa could only guess that the elf was afraid she would dismiss her and not go anyway.

“Did she say why?” she inquires as she waves her hand at the parchment next to her.

“No, Mistress said nothing to Menny,” the elf answers as she snaps her fingers. With the crack of her magic the wet ink on the parchment was dried and Meissa was free to roll up the parchment.

“Very well,” Meissa mutters, “Take this to my room and leave this on my bed. Touch nothing else.”

“Yes Young Mistress.”

With a crack the elf was gone and Meissa left the sun room, heading to the drawing room where she was likely to find her aunt.

~MJB~

“You want me to forgive him?!” Meissa shouts angrily as she gestures to Draco who was sitting by the fireplace, quiet as she paced hotly in the farthest part of the room she could manage.

“Do not yell, Meissa,” Narcissa reprimands.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” she raged.

A vase shatters without warning, startling her as a few shards bit into her skin.

“Do you think you can stop raging long enough for me to heal your injuries?” Narcissa asks when the girl resumed her pacing.

She had also taken to muttering - a traditional sign for both Malfoys to find a way to lock the girl into a room before she starts to lash out.

Yet as Draco looked at his mother he saw that she made no attempt to move the girl out of the drawing room.

So the Black heiress was allowed to continue pacing like a mad woman, muttering and probably one wrong word from exploding violently. She was unresponsive to any of Narcissa’s attempts to calm her down and Draco dared not say anything.

A minute nearly passed before Narcissa called for an elf - the elf appearing with a sharp crack. The same crack causing the girl to jump and wild magic jumped through her outstretched hand. Arching through the air like lighting.

SNAP!

A bright blue shield appeared and protected the Malfoys from the wild magic.

“Mistress!” the elf cries as she ran up to the panting girl, her long spindly arms outstretched. “Did Mistress Meissa call Remmy?”

“Remmy?” Meissa mutters distractedly, her eyes rather vacant. “Why are you here?”

The elf snaps her fingers and produced a mug of hot cocoa with an unhealthy amount of whip cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon. “Mistress Meissa called for Remmy!” the elf announces cheerfully as she gave the mug of cocoa to the baffled girl.

“Remmy, I didn’t - ,” Meissa tries to say before she found herself seated and being told to drink.

A bit stunned and shaken from her earlier rage, Meissa sips the hot cocoa - licking the whip cream from her nose.

“Better?” the elf asks after a moment had passed and the girl had curled her legs underneath her while sipping the hot cocoa. All Remmy got for her question was a distracted ‘mhm’.

“Thank you, Remmy, you can go now,” Narcissa dismisses. Meissa looks up from the foamy mug, meeting the house-elf’s eyes and with a near unnoticeable nod from the Slytherin girl the elf disapparates from the drawing room.

“Better now dear?”

Meissa eyes her aunt.

“Not in the slightest.”

“How long do you intend to hold a grudge against your cousin?”

Meissa shifts her gaze towards Draco.

“I don’t see him ever changing his ways,” she remarks drily.

“You could give him a chance.”

Meissa scoffs as she finishes her drink, placing the mug on the small table next to her.

“I know you love him, Aunt Cissy, but he’s been bothering Potter since the beginning of the term,” the girl scowls at her cousin. “I have had enough with him. It’s one thing to make Potter miserable but it’s another to use something he knew could affect not just Potter but just about anyone who lost one or BOTH their parents!”

With a huff she gets up from her chair and made to leave the drawing room.

“Meissa, I’m sorry!” Draco cries, speaking for the first time since the conversation started.

“Sorry is worthless to me!” Meissa snarls, her magic becoming visible briefly in her anger. “Sorry is doing it once. But _you_ ,” she snarls, “Done it for three months _straight_!”

Meissa stormed out of the room, the two blondes left staring at the partially destroyed door.

Narcissa sighs as she lifts her cup of tea to her lips. It would seem that her son had made a bigger mess than she had originally believed. “How do you propose to fix this, Draco?”

“Is it even possible to fix?”

“Anything is possible, Draco,” Narcissa sips. “I thought I would be able to help you but it is clear to me that she has no intention of forgiving you. So if you wish to get back onto her good side then you need to find your own way.”

“But-.”

“No buts, Draco. You made this mess, you fix it.”

Draco sighs reluctantly and leaves the room - he’ll need to think extra hard about this one.

~MJB~

It was day three and Meissa was finally ready to test out her spell - she just needed a final bit of approval from her aunt before she could try it out. The upside of the last three days was that she managed to improve her Latin usage. Down side she was finding that she doesn’t really have the patience for creating and fine-tuning a spell.

The spell she had tested the first night was actually a poorly strung together sentence - ‘Libros mentionem Flamel’. The poor excuse for a spell, instead of bringing only books that mentioned Flamel, it all of the books available in the library - hence the avalanche of books crashing down on her. (1)

“Let’s try this again,” she mutters quietly to herself, mentally telling herself that she needed to focus on the intent of the spell.

She holds her wand out as if she was going to perform the levitation spell except instead of a swish and flick she flicked her wand up from high down to her waist followed by a tight circle.

“Quaero Bibliotheca Flamel,” she intones as clearly as possible, bracing herself for any mishaps. (2)

A few books slid free from their place in the shelves and flew down to her, forming a tight circle around. The books that have flown down snapped open to the page pertaining to the search words.

A few of them didn’t pertain to what she was looking for in the first place she motions them shut and sent them back to the shelves. Out of the five books that had responded to her spell only two mentioned Nicolas Flamel.

She was glad that the spell didn’t blow up in her face or try to crush her underneath an avalanche of books.

The first book she looked at mentioned the Flamel family and their particular talent for alchemy. It also mentioned a philosopher's stone - a legendary stone that can transmute just about anything into gold and grant immortal life.

When she looks at the second book it goes even deeper details about the philosopher’s stone, speculating on how Nicolas Flamel had created the stone.

Meissa was curious about this so she settled down for a read, reading the passages which also contained a circle that contained runes similar to the circle she had given Hermione.

Curious she puts her palm on the page and - with a little bit of magic - she withdrew her hand from it, a small magical copy of the circle contained between her fingers. She then pushes her hand out, releasing the copy into the air.

It was still the same size as the one in the book so Meissa takes opposite sides of it and pulls at it, enlarging the circle so she could see it in better details. The first thing she noted was the six runes laid out in a design similar to what she could identify as a pentagram. Except the sixth rune was positioned in the center of the star - she didn’t recognize any of them so she couldn’t honestly determine their purposes.

“Curious,” she mutters to herself as she enlarges the circle even more so she could make sense of the smaller scripts of runes running along the edge of the circle.

But the runes she could now identify were still unfamiliar to her and she couldn’t comprehend any of it. Frustrated by her lack of understanding she picks up her wand, “Quaero Libros Alchemy!”

Two books flew from the shelves and when she motions to a spot on the table they stacked themselves neatly - the faint blue light vanishing the second they settled. She picks up the book on top and flips through the tome, searching for something that could help her with the runes.

After flipping through nearly half of the book she finds a chart that had the meaning of each rune.

Glad to have found a chart she places her palm on the page, just like she had done with the previous book and puts it up in the air. She took the liberty of separating the chart so that each rune had its own box with its meanings intact. Enlarging the runes to the same size as the ones she was trying to identify.

The six runes she identifies as spirit, water, fire, earth, and air clockwise with life placed firmly in the center.

A cold sense of dread went down her spine at the rune for life surrounded by the elements.

The smaller script she had a harder time identifying.

“Thousand…Offered…Unwilling… Power…Immortal?” She mutters quietly, slowly piecing it together.

“Life,” she mutters pointing to the center - and then, in the spaces between the five runes - “Thousand,” she starts naming as she went clockwise, “Offered. Unwilling. Power. Immortal…”

Something starts to click and she draws the book that gave her the design in the first place, reading the passage again.

“The Philosopher’s stone is rumored to be capable of transmuting base metals into gold or silver. In addition to this it is believed to hold the ability to heal all forms of illnesses as well as prolong the life of any person who consumes a small part of the stone - perhaps even make them permanently immortal. There is also a belief that a homunculus - a product of a failed human transmutation attempt - can obtain a soul to become fully human with the use of a Philosopher’s stone…”

She trails off thoughtfully, thinking about the stone. “A stone possibility capable of extending or granting immortality to the user,” she mutters to herself as she stares at the circle. It was like the answer was staring at her.

Staring…

A slow horror dawns onto her as she realizes something.

“A thousand lives offered unwillingly,” she strings together breathlessly, “for power and immortality.”

She shoves the books away from her, ignoring the few stray tomes falling to the floor, bile thick in her throat. She couldn’t… a famous wizard like Nicolas Flamel creating a stone from lives…

She snatches a clean parchment and spelled a quill.

“Dear Hermione,” she mutters, the quill scratching away, “I believe I found Nicolas Flamel.” She goes into details about what he’s famous for - leaving out what she had discovered - and concludes with her suspicions that Fluffy was guarding the entrance to the only known creation of the Philosopher’s stone. “If I discover anything else,” she concludes, eying the multiple scratched out lines, “I will owl you. Sincerely, Meissa Jean Black.”

She makes a face at what she just concluded the letter with.

“Scratch that.” The quill seems to look frustrated with her when she commanded this but it did as it was told. “Sincerely, MJB.” The quill does this easily and with a bit of a flourish that had her raising an eyebrow at the animated quill. “Was that really necessary?” she inquires, not quite expecting an answer.

It seemed to look at her before it effortlessly sliding into the ink pot. Unsure of what to make of that she shrugs her shoulders. “Remmy!” she calls.

CRACK!

The house-elf appears by the table, bowing to her before busying herself with the fallen books.

“Remmy, you can leave that,” she tries to stop the elf but before she could finish the mess was sorted and the elf was waiting for instructions. She sighs fondly at the expectant elf.

“Remmy, can you-.” Again the elf is a step ahead of her and she finds herself with a new parchment neatly copied from the draft, the scratched out lines gone from the new version of her letter.

“Can Remmy ask question?”

Meissa smirks fondly at the elf, “I believe you did, but you can ask me your question.”

“Was Mistress upset?”

Meissa arches an eyebrow at the elf. “Why do you ask that?” Remmy gestures to the books that she had sorted. “Oh…” The earlier feeling of bile was back. “I found out something I… wished I hadn’t figured out.” She looks up and realizes for the first time since she started dictating her letter that the circle and the various runes were still floating in the air.

With a frustrated growl she swipes her hand through the fiery marks, breaking the enchantment and causing them to vanish. She shuts her eyes to everything, silently cursing herself for being so curious.

“Remmy can help?”

“Remmy, I would be nothing without you,” Meissa smiles distractedly at the elf who was looking at her worriedly.

“Mistress?” the elf whimpers.

The Black heiress sighs and pats Remmy on her head. “Go and get an owl to take my letter to Hermione Granger.”

“Mistress is good?”

“Yes.” She tweaks Remmy’s ear gently, prompting the elf to wriggle her ears happily. “Off you go.”

CRACK!

The elf was gone and Meissa was left alone in the library, thinking about the Philosopher’s stone.

The method to create it aside, there were benefits to it - for one, she wanted to know if it was possible for the stone to treat magical injuries that have been deemed incurable by Healers. If it was then it could lead to fixing many issues.

She didn’t see herself creating a Philosopher’s stone though. The costs were too much for her. A thousand lives for the price of a stone… she couldn’t live with herself.

“If,” she wonders out loud to herself, pulling out a new parchment and snapped her fingers at the quill. The quill immediately snapped to attention and hopped onto the parchment, ready to record her thoughts. “If a Philosopher’s stone is capable of healing any illnesses then is it possible to use the stone to heal any injuries - normal or magical?”

She glances at the quill and watched it finish with a flourish. She rolls her eyes at the quill - its attitude is a bit comical. Animating a quill not only gives it life but also an attitude apparently.

“The Philosopher’s stone is,” she mutters as she picks up the book regarding Alchemy, “said to have many features but I am most interested in its’ healing capabilities. Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured beyond the point of sanity by Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange as well as Barty Crouch Jr. The nature of the Longbottom’s issue is due to being tortured by one of the Unforgivable Curses therefore the issue is not a physical one but a mental, magical, and possibly spiritual.”

Knock, Knock, Knock.

Meissa looks over her shoulders at the closed door. She snaps her fingers at the quill to indicate that it should stop recording the events around her. “Come in!” she calls out to the person on the other side.

The door swings open as she flips to the next page, skimming through the contents.

“Meissa?”

She pauses in the middle of turning the page, the voice registering in her mind.

“What do you want,” she asks flatly.

“Can we talk?”

“Way I see it, we’re already talking.”

“Can you at least look at me?”

With a sigh she snaps the tome shut, lower her feet from the edge of the table, turning the chair around to face them. “Well?”

Draco fiddles nervously in front of her as she waited for him to say his piece.

She needed to get back to her research - she wanted to think out every bit of the pros and cons of the Philosopher’s stone. As much as she didn’t want to, she can see the advantages of the stone.

But she was stuck waiting for her cousin to tell her what was on his mind.

~MJB~

Meissa was quiet, sitting in the sun room, staring at the snow falling outside.

She was still disgusted by what she had found. But she couldn’t help but think of the implications - she could give Neville his parents back. That was the forethought in her mind - curing the Longbottoms.

Her mind distant as she waved her wand, firing multi-colored sparks from the tips.

She rather be at home, at least there she knew what to expect.

Draco was still trying to get on her good side but he still had a long way to go before she was willing to forgive him.

“Meissa,” she hears from behind her. She stills her hand and looks over her shoulder to find that it was her aunt. She was dressed primly with her winter coat on and gloves in hand. “I’m headed to Diagon Alley, do you wish to accompany me?”

Meissa was going to answer negative until she got to thinking about how Christmas was set to happen in two days.

“Actually, yes now that you’ve mentioned it,” Meissa hops up from her seat and waves her wand over her clothes. Wordlessly casting a spell that smoothed out the wrinkles.

“Meissa, dear, you’re going to land yourself into trouble casting your spells freely,” Narcissa remarks, getting a cheeky grin from her niece. Narcissa smiles fondly at her niece and gestures for the girl to head to the drawing room.

“Come on then, Aunt Cissy!” the girl calls cheerfully to her aunt, fetching the tin of floo powder.

“Meissa Black, calm down,” Narcissa laughs, shaking her head in disbelief at the young girl.

She finds her niece wrapping a scarf around her neck. Her long red-highlighted hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Dear, perhaps you should get your earrings?” the blonde suggests to the girl.

“Oh!” Meissa lifts a lock of her hair to her eyes. “You’re right! Back in a moment!”

She was off, running out of the room and presumably up the stairs to her room. Narcissa could only shake her head - she was much like her mother in that aspect. All the energy and excitement of a child when their parents weren’t looking.

Meissa was back just as fast as she was gone, her hair the color of a raven and her skin a shade lighter. A carbon copy of her mother when she was that age. Her hair tussled and freely bouncing over the girl’s shoulders. The very definition of a free spirit.

“Alright then. Off we go,” Narcissa declares as Meissa produces the tin of floo powder. A pinch of power, a bit of fire, and off they were.

~MJB~

Diagon Alley was a winter wonder land besieged by a crowd of last minute Christmas shoppers.

Meissa was never one to handle crowds well on most days but on this day, in this moment, the girl was peering at a case, eyeing a pendant set on a long thin silver chain. The pendant was a black raven in flight, each feather perfectly etched out, the beak in near stark relief against the body - there was no mistaking the bird for anything else.

“Ah, I see you have an interest in this lovely necklace,” she suddenly heard a slimy voice say. She looks up to see a wizard smile at her from the other side of the case - the owner if she had to make a guess. “Did you know that in some myths the raven was considered to be a harbinger of death?” the wizard inquires, “And some of the muggles believed that we have the ability to transform into ravens to evade capture.”

Meissa couldn’t fault the muggles for believing that. There were some wizards and witches animagi who were ravens.

But she wasn’t interested in the fact that they were harbingers of death or what muggles believed. No, she was interested in their history as messengers.

She thought it was a suitable gift to give and was interested in purchasing it.

“I’ll buy it,” she declares and noted right away the twinkle in the man’s eyes.

“Lovely! That’ll be twenty galleons.” (3)

She arches an eyebrow at him. So that’s what he wants to play…

“Ten.”

He frowns at her. “The price is twenty.”

“Five,” she lowers and she can only suppose he saw that she wasn’t joking.

“Fifteen,” he tries.

“Two galleons,” she drawls, her eyes daring him to try her.

“Two,” he agrees with a reluctant sigh. (4)

She sets the coins in front of him, keeping her fingers firmly on them until he handed the necklace over, neatly wrapped.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she smiles at him before wordlessly sliding the package into her coat pocket.

She leaves the store, humming to a song she had heard on the Wizarding Wireless Network. It was quite catchy - though she probably shouldn’t let her aunt know she listens to the WWN.

She wonders through the crowd, on a look out for something when she found her aunt tucking away a shrunken package.

“All done dear?” her aunt asks.

“No…” she frowns as she peers around a bit more.

“What seems to be the problem.”

“I don’t know what to get a friend.”

Narcissa smiles - though she hid it quickly when Meissa turned to look at her. She was pleased to hear that her niece had made a friend at Hogwarts.

“Well, what do your friend likes?”

“Um… reading. She really loves to read and study.” Narcissa nods her head, thinking about Flourish and Blotts. “But I don’t know what she has and don’t have.” Narcissa frowns in thought, she could see her niece’s argument there. It wouldn’t do to have two copies of the same book. “I thought about an owl, because I don’t think she has one, but I don’t want to make the decision for her…”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, we’re only allowed to bring one.”

“Where did you read that?”

“It was in the acceptance letter,” Meissa remarks. “They especially expressed the word OR a few times in that one line.” Narcissa sighs, trust her niece to notice something like that. 

“Perhaps we should go with books then?” Narcissa suggests. “A few books in the field your friend is interested in?”

“She’s interested in lots of stuff, Aunt Cissy,” Meissa tells the woman as they head for Flourish and Blotts. “If she could I think she would buy just about every book in the world.”

“I suppose we could help her along then,” Narcissa remarks drily. She did not fancy being the owl, lugging along the books her niece may decide on. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) **Libros mentionem Flamel** \- Books mentioning Flamel
> 
> 2) **Quaero Bibliotheca ___** \- Search the library for ___
> 
> 3) 20 Galleons - $200 roughly
> 
> 4) 2 Galleons - $20 roughly


	12. A Holiday Gone to Shit

Meissa was quick to wake up on Christmas morning. The sound of Draco knocking on her door was one she never really enjoyed - the noise grating on her ears even on the best of days.

In the presence of only his family he normally allows himself to relax his behavior. Ironically, Draco could never experience total relaxation when his father is around. Meissa never liked Lucius Malfoy because her cousin became a totally different person when he tries to live up to his father’s ideals.

And she had no disillusions about the Lord Malfoy’s involvement in the Wizarding War. He was a Death Eater, just like her mother, but unlike her mother he escaped Azkaban by tricking the government into believing that he had been under Imperius Curse. (1)

So on Christmas morning she was awake before sunrise and downstairs drinking a cup of hot cocoa made to perfection by Remmy by the time Draco was up. His bare feet echoing softly throughout the manor as he ran down to the formal living room.

“Merry Christmas Meissa!”

“Happy Yule day,” she returns instead, getting a fond eye-roll from her cousin. They preferred to celebrate different holidays - Meissa preferred focusing on Yule while Draco favored Christmas. Although the two holidays happened on different days Meissa did like to tease him by reminding him which holiday she likes to celebrate.

“Is that hot cocoa?” Draco asks eagerly, pointing to the mug in her hand.

“Yes,” she answers before there was a loud crack as Remmy appeared with a mug just for him. “Thank you,” she tells the house-elf before she could disparate away, the elf’s ears wiggling happily.

“I wonder if mum’s awake yet,” Draco wonders as he sips at his hot drink. The whip cream on his wasn’t as high as hers’ but it was still a great deal more than the one he would have gotten from Menny.

Meissa glances out of the window, past the beautifully decorated tree, to see that it was still dark and the skies haven’t begun to lighten yet. “I dare say we have another hour before the sun raises,” she remarks.

“What do you want to do while we wait?”

Meissa thinks this over for a moment. “How do you feel about Wizard’s chess?”

Draco practically grimaced at this prospect. He, in no way, wanted to have his arse kicked by her but it could help past the time.

“Alright,” he finally agrees and they leave for the drawing room where Aunt Cissy keeps her set. The ebony and ivory set was slightly worn out from frequent matches between the two of them or between Narcissa and Meissa. Most often Meissa would win against Draco but the real challenge was often against her aunt.

But when Uncle Sevy is her opponent she would be hard pressed to win a single match in five games. Mostly because he likes to have her concentrate on not one thing but on three - reading a tome on whatever topic he wanted her to learn while at the same time she’s to focus on keeping a good pace in the game.

After a quick set up - Meissa got the ebony pieces - Draco opened the game with a bold move.

~MJB~

It took Meissa maybe thirty minutes to beat Draco and by that point Narcissa was up and fully dressed for the day. Draco was scowling at the board, studying the remaining pieces while the ebony pieces were doing a victory dance of a sort. The Queen - a dragon normally curled around a seat - was beating her wings furiously as she ‘roared’ in a show of power.

Meissa was laughing at the chess pieces’ antics, idly running her finger along the sleepy Dragon King. She had noticed that the ebony King never liked to be involve in the fight - the ivory King yes but the ebony King never enjoyed being in the middle of the action. The ebony King was actually more likely to obey commands that led to the King evading check or checkmates.

“I don’t know why I play against you,” Draco grumbles as he tries to figure out where he had gone wrong. It was like Meissa had a very aggressive attack right from the beginning - not a usual tactic for his cousin but it had overwhelmed him in the opening moves.

“Because I keep things interesting,” she answers cheekily while Narcissa was handing them their winter coats.

They were headed to the oldest bit of the manor - the heating charms don’t quite work as well as they should in the top room.

“I don’t know how kicking my arse is any fun,” Draco muttered lowly. Though not low enough to avoid being heard by his mother.

“Draco! Language!”

“Sorry mum…”

Meissa was laughing, a hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound. Draco was quick to scowl at his cousin while Narcissa led the way up to the tower. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the balcony in time to greet the sun and welcome it back to their world.

“Helius, Apollo, Freyr, Sol, Lugh, I welcome you back,” Meissa whispers reverently, drinking in the feel of the sun against her face. Draco and Narcissa, silent during this moment, turned their heads to the sun as well. Her breathing evens as she opens her spirit to the warm sun, letting it chase away the chills in her body.

“Helius, Apollo, Freyr, Sol, Lugh - I welcome you back,” she repeats and she does it once more before she bows her head, gathering her energies once more. She doesn’t know how much time went by but when she was finally ready to turn in she felt a million time better.

When she looks over to her cousin and aunt she found them just as refreshed as she was and patiently waiting for her. She smiles at them, her mind distant and more than a bit blissful, before she joins them for the trek down the stairs.

It was time to open their presents.

~MJB~

Meissa was grinning happily as she leafs through a particular tome, skimming through the various spells - their incantations, wand moments and their various expected effects.

It would be safe to say that she was over the moon with this new book of spells. It was just one of the many tomes she had gotten from Draco.

“Meissa, there’s one more gift for you,” she hears her aunt call for her attention, prompting her to look up from the tome. She marks her place in the tome with her wand and eyes her aunt and uncle carefully.

Lucius’s pale and pointed face was no different than usual - carefully blank with no hint of approval or disapproval. His face was always careful around her - ever since the night she had effortlessly turned back his attempt to use Legilimens on her. She remembered turning back the attempt but she couldn’t remember what happened afterwards.

Her aunt was smiling at her, her blue eyes dancing in excitement. She looked like Draco when he was trying to hide a secret and failing miserably at it.

It suggested to her that whatever this last gift was, it promised to be good.

“Who is it from?” she inquires as her aunt pulls her wand out. With a swish and a flick the last present, hidden out of sight until then, was levitated over to her.

“It’s from Severus and I,” she tells her as the Black heiress arches an eyebrow at the present.

“It looks like a broom,” Draco breathes in awe, peering at it.

Meissa glances at her cousin before she tears the wrapping, her eyes going incredibly wide when she recognized the name on it. “The Nimbus 2000!” she exclaims happily while Draco bumps her shoulder into her.

“You’ve got to let me try it out!” he begs, causing the girl to laugh.

“You sure you want to be on the same broom the Gryffindor Seeker beat us with?” she teases, watching Draco make a face. She just about burst out laughing - she knew how to push his buttons just right.

“On second thought, never mind,” Draco grumbles as Meissa reached over to ruffle his hair. “Watch it!” he cries out as he finger combs his hair to try and fix the errant strands.

“You’re lucky it’s not as long as mine,” Meissa grabs her braid which was as low as the small of her back. And when it was unbound - which is how she usually had it when she wasn’t busy with something - it hung as low as her hips.

“I don’t think anyone has hair as long as you,” Draco remarks as he sorts through his gifts, putting the books in one pile, the candies in another, and the questionable in another. The red tint in her hair was obvious in the lighting and her bangs partially obscured her pitch black eyes.

“Let’s put our gifts away and play a few rounds of Catch the Snitch!” Meissa suggest gleefully, scooping up her gifts. All but running from the room with her things.

She didn’t get a lot, having befriended only a few people. But she did love what she got.

From Hermione she got a book on ancient dueling techniques - she wasn’t sure how the Gryffindor knew about her skill in martial magic but she saw this as a way to learn even more than she already did. In addition to the ancient dueling book she also got two more books - both of them were about legends but one was about wizarding legends while the other was about muggle legends.

From Daphne she received a black two inch thick leather wrist bracelet with the Black family crest burned onto the surface. The skull, the fist wielding the wand, and the three ravens were all part of the family crest. Along with the motto - Toujours Pur.

Draco had given her a box of chocolate frogs, a holster meant to be strapped to her forearm, and a tall stack of tomes filled with spells of all kinds. When she tried out the holster all she had to do was twist her hand and her wand should slide into her hand. It was a nifty piece of work and it meant that she had quicker access to her wand - the robes at the school meant she had to push them aside first before she could draw. It meant a delay of at least ten seconds.

She was rather happy with the gifts she had gotten and could only hope that everyone else was happy with her gifts.

~MJB~

“WhoO!”

Draco ducks down as Meissa flew near the ground after pulling off a dangerous near collision dive. When he looked up with snow on his head, he saw that his cousin was climbing up high again. There was literally no limit to how far she could go with the broom.

“Hey, when is it going to be my turn!” he yells up to her just as she was zooming by.

He thinks she yelled something back at her but he couldn’t hear it too well with her flying so quickly. He ends up rolling his eyes before he went to grab his own broom - a Comet 260. It’s nothing in comparison to Meissa’s brand new broom but at least he’ll be in the air.

Within moments he was flying, trying hard to race against her and finding that he was having a hard time with the breaking charm. So he didn’t perform any of the dives his cousin was well known for. But they did race around trees, split seconds probably all that kept them from crashing into trees and large boulders.

Draco was seconds behind her, the Comet not quite allowing for tight turns and twist, so when his cousin suddenly flew upward he barely had time to react to the fact that there was suddenly a large tree in front of him.

“ARGH!”

“Draco!”

Meissa had flown high in the seconds it took for her cousin to crash into the tree - his cry reaching her and stopping her ascension. She drops into a steep dive, pulling out of it in time to avoid a head on collision with the ground - breathless with worry she jumps off to crouch next to the stunned boy. She lightly slaps him on the cheek, frowning worriedly at the graze on his forehead.

Blood was flowing freely from the gash that stretched from his hairline to the tip of his right eyebrow. She knew of a spell that could knit the flesh back together but she was worried that there was an underlining issue in his head.

“Ugh…”

She smiles warily at him as his eyelids flutter - more than a little bit relieved that he woke up on his own. She takes the hem of her shirt and rips off a strip, wadding the fabric up before pressing it tentatively against the open wound. The strip was immediately soaked but she kept it there, afraid to try and replace it with another.

“Hey there,” she grins at him before she stops his hand when he made an effort to lift it to his head.

“What happened?”

Meissa sighs in relief, grateful that he didn’t seem to lose any brain cells as a result of the head on collision.

“Flew right into a tree, that’s what you did,” she remarks as she helps him up. “C’mon, we better get back to the house. Your forehead is bleeding pretty badly.” She steadies him, made sure he had a firm grip on the soaked through wad of cloth, before she stooped down to grab his broom. Hurriedly grabbing him when he starts to sway again and hands the broom over to him and manipulated him onto the Nimbus before she took them up.

Her arms wrapped around her cousin’s midriff, she steadies him as she rose high above the tree for a straight flight back to the manor. Her concern causing her to hold onto him tightly as she pushed the broom to its’ maximum speed.

“Aunt Cissy!” she called the second they landed, Draco stumbling to his feet - his broom falling from his fingers. She couldn’t wait for her aunt to show up from wherever so she loops her cousin’s arm around her shoulders and helps him up the stairs to the patio and through the back door. “MENNY!”

CRACK!

“Young Master!” the house-elf exclaims when she saw them. Two snaps of her fingers and a pair of chairs were conjured up along with a small bowl of water accompanied by a clean rag. She immediately lowers Draco onto the chair and grabs the rag to press it against his bleeding head wound.

“What happened?!” Meissa hears her aunt exclaim when she came into the room and saw her son.

“We were racing and he didn’t see this tree,” the girl started to explain when her aunt gives her a look. Aware that she had messed up big time she falls quiet, keeping a watchful eye over them.

She sat still while her aunt was healing the gash on his forehead, the wound healing nicely and leaving no trace of a scar. While she was relieved that he wasn’t going to have a scar from the incident she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly.

~MJB~

She groans softly under her breath as she stirs - her bones practically popping loudly in the silence of the room. She winces at the pounding in her head and presses a hand to her forehead. “Drake?” she whispers softly, trying to find a way to move without adding to the pain in her body and in her head.

“Drake where are you?” she mumbles quietly, just barely managing to roll over so that she was laying on her belly.

With a groan, her head pounding bitterly, she tries to force herself to her hands and knees. A scream of pain nearly forced itself from her throat when her right arm and left leg buckles, sending sharp flares of pain through her. Hot tears rolled down her face as she bit her lip, trying to find a way to move without using the screaming limbs.

She could barely see in the darkness but she was able to recognize that she was in her room - though she couldn’t remember how she got there in the first place. Her sides were burning and she felt an awful stabbing sensation in her sides - like she couldn’t breathe.

“Remmy,” she breathed, barely able to speak without her ribs screaming in pain.

A moment passed and she didn’t hear a crack that would normally come with the elf’s appearance. “Remmy,” she tries again.

The house-elf didn’t show.

She grips the edges of her nightstand and she was barely able to get herself onto her feet, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her. Her right knee was throbbing painfully and her left leg was just one rod of pain that she actually had to stand on her right leg to even hobble anywhere. As it was she could barely keep herself from falling over while hobbling over to the door.

Her hands groped in the darkness for the doorknob before her fingers wrap around it gratefully.

She twist the knob anxious to get out…

Except, she couldn’t open it.

“What…” she whispers, panic rising in her throat.

She starts to pound on the door, getting scared the longer she went without being answered. “Drake! Aunt Cissy!” she pounds on the door harder.

“… Help…” she whimpers quietly.

She didn’t know why she was locked up inside her room and she didn’t know why she was hurting all over.

She slides down to the ground and nervously starts to bite at her knuckles, searching her memories frantically in an effort to recall what happened. She remembered her cousin getting hurt in a head on collision with a tree - remembers taking him back to the manor… but what happened afterwards?

She presses her forehead against her hand, shutting out everything including the silence in the room.

An unknown amount of time passed with her trapped inside her own mind, memories haunting her before she would catch herself and force herself to think of happier thoughts or even of Hermione and Daphne.

Burt in the silence that hung in the room there was a click, the normally soft sound was loud and sharp in her ears. She jerks awake, immediately wincing at the lingering pain in her body, at the noise.

“Meissa…” she hears her aunt whisper before a soft ‘Lumos’ was heard. The tip of her wand lit up, nearly blinding the girl and causing her to flinch back.

“Aunt Cissy…” the girl whispers quietly as the woman kneels in front of her.

“I’m so sorry, child,” Narcissa mutters, the light on the tip of her wand casting shadows onto her face.

“What happened?”

“Nox,” Narcissa whispers, extinguishing the only light in the room. “Tergeo,” the Malfoy Matriarch intoned evenly followed by, “Episkey.” (2) (3) (4)

Meissa arched an eyebrow at her aunt - she recognized the first spell as something that would clear away dried blood from an open wound. She didn’t realize that she was bleeding - she knew that her entire body was aching but she hadn’t realized that she was bleeding at one point.

“Aunt Cissy?”

“Child, I need to get you out,” Narcissa whispers as she hooks her hands underneath Meissa’s arms, hauling her up. A pained whimper escaped Meissa’s throat as she was lifted up - her ribs were screaming like mad and when she tries to walk her bruised knee threatens to give out on her.

“Who did this…” she asks as she was half dragged, half carried down the stairs to the drawing room.

“Lucius.”

A pained half chuckle escaped her, she should’ve figured.

She had allowed his precious son to be hurt on her watch.

She grimaces as a stumble jars all the aching bits in her body.

“Meissa, you need to go,” Narcissa takes a pinch of floo before announcing as clearly as possible while keeping her voice low, “Nigri Sanctuarium!” (5)

The fire turns green and before Meissa could protest this she was pushed into the fire. Spun around and around until she fell out painfully, coughing as the soot settled around her.

“Remmy…” she wheezed, her sight spotting as she tries to stand.

“Mistress!”

“Get Sevy…” she coughs, slumping down just as a loud crack fills her ears.

~MJB~

Meissa was safely hidden in one of the many secret rooms in the manor, prodding at the itchy plaster around her knee - she just barely managed to keep herself from wanting to scratch at her side where there was a half-cast around her chest to keep her from shifting too much. Her fractured ribs were going to take at least one more dose of the Skele-Gro potion to mend the persistent break in her bones.

She’s already been confined to her bed for the entirety of the week since her aunt had helped her escape the Malfoy Manor.

Aside from the fractures in her ribs there were at least three more fractures - one in her right arm and two in her left leg which, combined with her bruised right knee, meant that she couldn’t do any walking.

The fractures in her arm were among the first to be healed along with one of the fractures in her leg. But the remaining fractures were persistent, even after a whole week, and Remmy - bless her - was doing what she could to keep the girl from going insane from the mandatory bed rest.

It wasn’t an easy task - not for Remmy and certainly not for Snape.

Her homework for the winter holidays was already done so she didn’t even have that to distract herself. Her gifts from everyone were still at the Malfoy Manor and she didn’t see herself going back any time soon. Even if she did have her gifts with her, chances were she was going to end up hurting herself even more trying to hurry her healing just so she could practice her spells.

She still couldn’t remember why she had been beaten so badly that she had multiple fractures, bruises on various parts of her body, and more than a few gashes on her person. She was missing more than a few hours and she wasn’t even sure how much time had elapsed before she woke up.

“Mistress!” she heard Remmy exclaims before she appeared in the middle of the room, wringing her ears nervously.

“What is it?”

“Post for Mistress!” Meissa groans as she forces herself to sit upright, her ribs protesting loudly. “No, Mistress no move! Remmy bring Mistress post!” the elf cries out and with a crack she was gone.

Meissa groans again, rolling her eyes at her elf’s antics. She needed to get out of the bed sooner or later but the house-elf - on strict orders from her godfather - was determined to keep her in bed until the day she had to make her way up to King’s Cross Station.

CRACK!

Remmy was back and this time with a decent sized package that looked like it needed at least three owls to deliver.

“Who is it from, Remmy?”

“From Mistress’ cousin!” the elf exclaims, placing the package on the bed. Within easy reach of the injured girl.

“From Drake?” she wonders out loud before she asks for a knife to open the package with. She might as well see what he had sent her.

The knife cuts through the rope that bound the package shut and the first thing she sees is a letter from her cousin.

_Meissa,_

_Mum told me that you left the manor after the accident. I’m sorry I didn’t see you off but my head was a bit scrambled from hitting the tree so hard._

_But there’s something that’s been bugging me. Why did you leave your gifts behind? I tried asking mum about it but she wouldn’t give me a straight answer - that usually means something really bad happened to you. I don’t know what it could’ve been but I hope you didn’t mind me sending your things to you. I had to ask mum to shrink your suitcase and broom otherwise I would’ve needed even more owls to deliver this._

_We both know that no owls but mum and mine - maybe even Snape - can deliver to your house._

_Hope everything is alright. See you on the train._

_Sincerely, Draco_

Meissa frowns thoughtfully at the letter - she had no idea how she should react to her cousin’s thoughtfulness. She hands the letter over to Remmy who places it with the other letters she keeps.

Peering into the box she sees her things were safely stored away and just like the letter said her trunk and broom were shrunken. “Remmy, put this away somewhere safe,” she instructs her elf, handing over her trunk and broom. “I need it for school. Make sure to give it to me when I leave,” she tells the elf.

“Yes Mistress!” the elf cries before she pops away.

Meissa arches an eyebrow at the elf before she pulls out one of her books from Hermione - she wanted to read a bit about the muggle mythology. It wasn’t restricted to any specific culture too.

She was interested in her ancestor’s cultures - she so far managed to identify that her grandmother was French. Some of the books in the library was written in Ancient Greek so she can somewhat say she has a Greek ancestor or was distantly connected to one of the families there.

She honestly had no idea and the research she had put in so far wasn’t enough to confirm or deny it. It made sense to her regardless because there’s no way to avoid inbreeding in magical Britain. The muggles didn’t have the same problem but then again they weren’t trying to preserve the purity of their bloodlines.

She pauses at a page regarding a Cerberus in Greek mythology. Cerberus is considered to be one of the many offspring of Typhoeus and Echidna. Both of whom are children of Gaia and Tartarus, Titans from the time before the Olympian gods. According to the book Cerberus guarded the entrance to Hades and was one of the challenges for a demi-god Heracles.

The more she read about the Cerberus’ appearances the more she knew that mythology often didn’t live up to reality. Because the description said that the hellhound also had - in addition to its three heads - a serpent’s tail, a mane of snakes and claws of a lion. She can only reckon that the tail and mane was due to his mother - Echidna, a half nymph and half snake monster.

Meissa sighs as she lowers the book, thinking. Reading about the Cerberus only reconfirmed the information she already knew about the creature. It also reminded her of Nicolas Flamel and his hidden stone.

She still believed that Dumbledore is an idiot for bringing a Philosopher’s stone into the school and guarding it with dangerous lines of defenses in a school filled with curious minds. It was just so stupid in general.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) **Imperius Curse** \- curse places the victim completely under the caster's control
> 
> 2) **Nox** \- Wand-Light extinguishing spell
> 
> 3) **Tergeo** \- clears up dried blood from a bleeding wound
> 
> 4) **Episkey** \- Heals mild to moderate injuries
> 
> 5) **Nigri Sanctuarium** \- The Black Sanctuary


	13. Back to Hogwarts

Meissa breathes slowly through her nose, her face stony as she moved slowly down the step, hissing when she has to jump the last distance from the train steps.

She had waited until everyone else was gone to make the journey out from the compartment to the stations outside. She wasn’t afraid of missing the carriages back to the castle, her cousin knew that she was still hurting pretty badly and even though they weren’t supposed to show weaknesses in public they both knew that she was an exception to the rule.

Relieved to finally be on the station she pushes her hair back from her face and limps over to the last remaining carriage. The effort to keep her face blank was nearly futile despite the fact that the fracture in her leg had healed, though the muscle around her leg was weakened and more than a bit sore.

Her arm was in better shape in comparison to her leg since she was able to let it rest - though she was eternally grateful for the fact that her dominant arm hadn’t been injured in anyway.

She couldn’t imagine not being able to use her wand for however long it took for her to not cringe in pain.

Although it could’ve been a perfect opportunity to practice wandless magic or even training herself to use her right arm as efficiently as her left now that she thinks about it.

“Meissa!” she hears her cousin call for her sharply, prompting her to look up sharply at the carriage where she saw him waving for her next to the sole remaining carriage. She rolls her eyes at his antics and hurries up a bit more, climbing into the carriage with a cringe.

The weather was making her leg hurt like mad and she made a note to herself to find something to dull the ache until her leg gets stronger. But in no time they were at the front gates and Meissa needed to climb back down and make her way across the grounds.

“How badly were you hurt?” Draco asks worriedly as he kept pace with his cousin. He hadn’t thought she’d still be hurting after a week.

“It could’ve been worse,” she remarks drily - she had no doubt about it anyway even if she couldn’t remember one second of it.

“Will you be okay?”

“Sooner or later,” she answers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a quick before she leaves his side to head to the dormitories.

Draco, having mentioned joining his friends for a quick bite, stared after her. He couldn’t shake the thought that she seemed to have lost some weight - again. 

Down the stairs, in the dungeons, Meissa was limping towards the dormitory when Daphne came into view with a book in hand. At the sight of each other they both stilled.

Meissa because she still intended to hide her lingering injuries from people if she could help it while the blonde had stopped because she hadn’t thought there be another Slytherin roaming the dungeons so soon after returning from the winter break.

Daphne narrows her eyes suspiciously at Meissa - unsure of what she had seen.

Had she really seen her limping?

“Daphne,” the Black heiress greets. She doesn’t make an effort to move or get closer to her friend. Hopeful that the blonde would continue walking to wherever she was headed in the first place.

“Meissa,” the blonde returns easily, “How was your break?”

“As well as it could have been,” she replies - subconsciously pressing a hand to her arm where there was still a lingering pain in her muscles. “Yours?”

“I thought it was okay.”

Daphne definitely thought that something was wrong with Meissa. She couldn’t remember a time when Meissa would stay so still without shuffling around. The Black heiress was normally so full of life that the current sight of her worried the blonde.

“Meissa, what’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong?”

Daphne gives her a peeved look - she did not want to be talked into circles as the girl was prone to doing. “Meissa, what happened?”

Meissa sighs and decides that she wouldn’t be able to get Daphne to drop it. She didn’t want to expend the energy to try and convince Daphne to leave it and she wasn’t quite looking forward to the thought of another argument/feud with the blonde.

“Long story short,” she mutters as she walks closer - limp was more like it. “I got messed up pretty bad over the break. My leg and arm still hurts a bit.”

Daphne was shocked by the very visible limp in her friend’s stride and when she heard ‘arm’ she immediately looked for any signs of injury - quickly seeing the way Meissa made an effort to not move her right arm.

“Meissa, what happened to you?” Daphne asks worriedly, her hands moving nervously over the girl’s shoulders and arms, unsure of where to put them without hurting the other girl.

“That’s part of the long story,” the Black heiress remarks in a fairly bland tone.

“You’ll tell me, right?”

“I’m not sure I can,” Meissa confesses. “I don’t really… well, I know the reason why but I can’t actually _remember_ the event itself.”

“That’s not good,” Daphne mutters worriedly. “You must have hit your head pretty badly for you to block out the memories…”

“Or it could be like that time when I…” she trails off - they had stopped talking with each other shortly afterwards over a fight blown out of proportion.

Daphne frowns a she recalled the day Meissa got into a fight but couldn’t actually remember the fight itself or the events surrounding it.

“Do you remember what led to it?”

“I…” Meissa was going to answer yes when she realizes that she doesn’t truly know. She knew the why - Draco getting hurt - the who - Lucius - but she couldn’t remember when it happened or how Lucius found out. She suspect that her cousin was unconscious until after she was freed by his mother.

“I think I should answer with a 'not really',” she finally answers the question.

“Not really?”

“I don't know how else you want me to phrase it,” Meissa shrugs her shoulders as she thinks. “I know the reason why it happened or at least I think I do. But I don't know how it happened or why.”

“You just contradicted yourself there.”

“I know, but this isn't a simple matter. So just leave it alone, please?”

Daphne frowns worriedly at her friend - she knew that she was headed to the Malfoy estates when she left. So did her injuries happen there at Draco's house or did it happen when she finally got away from the Malfoys to slip home?

“Promise to let me know if you get hurt next time?” she tries instead of pushing the issue further.

“You ask for a lot of promises,” Meissa grouses but she nods her head in consent anyway.

“I worry a lot about you,” Daphne replies simply.

“Such is the world.”

The girls look at each other before turning to look at the entrance to the dormitory. “Nobilis Veneficus,” Meissa intones, the bricks scrapping against each other to form the entrance.

“Noble Wizard,” Daphne translates, “Who thought of that one?”

“Somehow I wouldn't be surprised if it was Flint or one of the inbred idiots,” Meissa insults, uncaring that there were ears in the room. Daphne saw that it was a second year and judging from the glare aimed at them now she could only reckon that the witch was a cousin of the insulted 'idiot'.

“Meissa,  you're going to make an enemy of your own house at this rate,” Daphne scolds lightly.

The Black heiress arches an eyebrow at the blonde - seemingly saying 'do you see me caring?'

Daphne sighs - looks like she'll have to keep an eye out for the both of them.

~MJB~

Meissa was sitting by the lakeside later that day, enjoying the breeze as she fiddles with her wand. She was thinking about the gaps in her memories - she had no idea why it was happening. She doesn’t even know if it’ll hurt her in the long run.

She didn’t know how long she had spent sitting there by the lake side when she senses someone approaching. But she didn’t sense any malicious intent so she stayed still until they sat down beside her with a content sigh.

“Ello Hermione,” she greets, having recognized that sigh.

“Hello Meissa,” Hermione returns warmly. The heiress glances at her when she feels a hand on her elbow, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“My books, silly.” Hermione smiles at her.

“Oh,” Meissa smiles shyly.  “You’re welcome.” Meissa pulls on her hair idly, her face almost carefully blank. “Thank you, for my books too.”

“You didn’t have them?” Hermione asks, her voice indicating she was relieved.

“No. I really liked the one about muggle mythologies.”

“Have you been to the muggle world?”

Meissa tilts her head and peers at the other girl. “No.”

“Would you, one day, go into the muggle world with me?”

“Why?”

“… Would it be bad of me to say that I hope that one day I can introduce you to my parents?”

Meissa looks thoughtfully at the quiet Gryffindor before she offers a half smile. “I have a suggestion.” Hermione arches an eyebrow at her. “This summer, I’ll go with you to your parents’ place for a week or two. We do what muggles do or whatever you do and we spend the rest at my place.”

Both eyebrows were arched now.

“What are we going to do at your place?”

Meissa grins at her. “Did you forget that we can practice at my place?” she teases.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaims and got a mischievous smirk from the other girl. She rolls her eyes and slaps her shoulder with a mock glare.

“Abuse! Abuse!” Meissa cackles, smiling widely at the Gryffindor.

Hermione rolls her eyes fondly at the Slytherin and before long they settled into a quiet companionable silence.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“How did you find out about Flamel?”

“Oh. I invented a spell that would search for terms in the actual books themselves,” Meissa dismisses casually.

“What?! That could’ve been dangerous!”

“Yeah I know. I was attacked by an avalanche of books the first time I tried to make a spell.” She flinches when she realizes that she had slipped something.

“An avalanche of books?!” Hermione all but screeched.

Meissa palms her face in disbelief - she should’ve kept that to herself.

“I’ve already gotten a lecture about it from my aunt,” she interrupts before the Gryffindor could say anything to lecture her.

“What you did… it could’ve been really dangerous,” Hermione whispers, her hand squeezing Meissa’s elbow. 

“I know and I’m sorry,” Meissa tries to reassure her. “But I found out about Flamel, isn’t that a good thing?”

Hermione frowns and Meissa grimaces - she might have to spend a bit groveling to get on the Gryffindor’s better side again.

“Don’t do that again and I’ll forgive you.”

Meissa arches an eyebrow at her before nodding her head. “Okay.”

“So, the Philosopher’s stone,” Hermione mutters thoughtfully. “You’re absolutely positive?”

“Yes. He’s the only Nicolas Flamel in the last seven hundred years.”

“The only?”

“Didn’t I mention that he’s over six hundred years old?”

“You weren’t kidding when you said it grants immortality,” Hermione remarks.

“At a price.” Meissa yawns, trying to remember the information that didn’t pertain to the creation of the stone. “I think I read that the stone is a key ingredient in the potion that would allow the drinker to live longer than they normally would.”

“So they would be reliant on the stone to maintain their immortality?”

“In essence, yes. I wouldn’t actually know.”

Hermione frowns. “So whoever want the stone would be interested in any of its’ abilities, right?”

“Possibility.”

“What should we do?”

Meissa thinks this over, wondering about the defenses that could be involved. 

“I don’t think there is much we can do right now,” she finally confesses. “Have you told the boys?”

“Not yet, I thought it was better if I didn’t tell them in a letter.”

Meissa nods her head. “Don’t mention you got it from me, okay?”

“But why?”

“They don’t trust me - I don’t expect them to,” Meissa gives her a patient look when Hermione makes to protest. “The only reason why I’ve taken an interest is because you asked.”

“This isn’t going to make them like you, Meissa.”

The Black heiress grins at the other girl. “Again, I don’t care. I’m in this for you. Not them.”

Hermione smiles and hugs her. “Thank you.”

~MJB~

With the winter break over with things were quick to settle back to normal.

The Gryffindors trained just about every single day or so it seemed. Harry was frequently exhausted by the time Meissa sees him trudging back into the castle to head up to the Gryffindor common room. And the rain, along with the brisk spring air, was likely making Harry miserable.

Meissa pitied the boy but suspected that the Slytherin team was training just as hard as the Gryffindors if not more - the team Captain, Marcus Flint was constantly roaring at everyone and he suspected even his own house for spying for the enemies. Even though the Slytherin Quidditch team won its match against Ravenclaw he was still paranoid and anxious to make up for the embarrassing loss to the Gryffindors - though it seemed like he intended to sabotage them by taking the days the Gryffindors schedule for.

Then again his enhanced state of paranoia was highly understandable when a person considers the fact that he had ate something just a few days after the winter break was over. Only to sprout a tail worthy of a lizard, feathers of a bird of some kind, claws of a badger, and a weak looking mane of hair accompanied by whiskers.

The sight of him sprouting the features of the four founders' animals was the top topic for weeks afterwards. Not even the Weasley twins - when questioned by their head of house and the headmaster - claimed this feat as their own.

It was the dread of many in the school that there was a third - not counting Peeves - prankster lurking in the school.

Especially since this particular prankster remained anonymous in the entirety of the school. Well, anonymous to all except for one.

Daphne was the only one who knew the reasons behind the 'pranks' and she sincerely hoped that Meissa never become like the Weasley twins. For some reason she could picture the two sides going at 'war' with each other - pranks escalating until something breaks. And she suspects that Meissa would never back down from a challenge.

In any case the two Slytherins were sitting outside enjoying the sun - despite the cold air. They only had a few precious minutes before DADA with their rather smelly professor and they wanted to get in as much fresh air as possible before entering his classroom. Meissa found it hard to believe that it was the last week of February - a measly two months since the end of the holidays.

Despite basking in the warm sun they were waiting for Hermione - Meissa had gotten a message from the Gryffindor saying that she had finally told the boys and was going to meet them before DADA.

“Hermione, I don't see why we have to tell them!” Ron was questioning in a very angry voice - his face as bright red as his hair. Meissa glances at her friend and mimed his next words in perfect timing. “They're Slytherins!”

Daphne was taken by surprise by her perfect timing that she burst out laughing while the raven haired girl smiles innocently at the suspicious boys.

“Ronald Weasley, she's my friend! I trust her and I trust her judgment!” Hermione snipes at the redheaded boy while Harry looked torn between the two of them.

Meissa could hardly fault him for being unsure of how to react to a fight between the two of them. But somehow she suspects that he'll continue being stuck between the two friends and knew that whatever he does now will define him in her eyes forever more.

“Before we devolve into petty arguments,” Meissa speaks up with a lazy drawl, “Where, as Hermione puts it, is the big fire?”

“Oh! We just found out about Flamel!” Hermione declares while Meissa was sharing a very brief look with Daphne - the three of them were in on the big secret and were just putting on a show for the boys.

“So who is he?” Daphne asks, leading the conversation where it needed to go.

“He’s the only known creator of the Philosopher’s stone,” Harry pipes up - sounding like he had it hammered into his head.

Meissa had no doubt that Hermione had actually gone into a long talk about it and the properties of the stone. It seemed like a thing she would do if they had no idea what it is.

“That’s a dangerous item,” Meissa remarks quietly, expressing her concern about the stone being hidden in Hogwarts.

“No way,” Ron protests, disagreeing instantly. “You could do anything with it!”

“Oh?” Meissa drawls, her voice expressing her opinion that whatever he comes up with it’s likely to be very idiotic. “Pray tell.”

“You could make transmit metal to gold, genuine gold!” Ron exclaim. “You could buy a Quidditch team if you wanted to!”

“Or,” Meissa interrupt before he could go any further, “You could be a morally bad person and live forever - killing and maiming people for the sheer entertainment.” Ron’s jaw drops immediately at what he said. “Nicolas Flamel is over 600 years old and we’re fortunate that he had no aspiration to be a Dark Lord.”

Daphne looked worriedly at her friend - she had noticed that she tends to see the darker side of a lot of things. It was like she naturally sees the darker aspects of people.

Harry and Hermione were frowning thoughtfully at Meissa - like what she had said had surprised them.

“She has a point,” Daphne speaks up. “In the wrong hands the stone could be dangerous.”

“Even if it wasn’t,” Meissa chips in, “the Headmaster’s defenses are dangerous.”

“Which means that he expects that someone dangerous is after the item,” Hermione gasps as she realizes exactly what they’re saying.” But if that’s -,” she tries to disagree but found that she couldn’t.

“What?” the boys asked in union.

“The Headmaster has placed all of Hogwarts in danger by hiding the Philosopher’s stone here,” Meissa answers bluntly. “My guess is that he truly believes that no one can gain access to the stone with the defenses he had placed.”

“Unless,” Ron starts, his tone immediately putting Meissa on edge, “the person was involved in the defenses.”

Hermione looks warily between the two sides - sensing that Ron is perhaps a few words from causing a war.

“Who, pray tell, do you believe would be involved?” Meissa questions - her tone somehow familiar to the two other girls with her. Even the arch of her eyebrow was familiar to them.

“Snape of course!”

Daphne scowls at the redhead. “ _Professor_ Snape,” she starts hotly, stressing heavily on his title, “would not do something like that!”

Meissa nodded her head in agreement. She was getting tired of having to defend Snape to the hotheaded boy and was grateful that someone else was there to defend him too. If he doesn’t shut up about the matter he was going to find himself looking like a freak of nature for a few weeks - and that’s a promise.

Hermione looked at the Slytherins and decide that she needed to step in before things escalated - again. “How many people would know about the stone in the first place?” she asks quickly before Ron’s growing anger about the Slytherins blew a fuse.

“It can’t be many,” Harry remarks.

“Probably only those involved in the creation of the defenses and Flamel - the creator of the stone,” Meissa comment drily, rubbing her wrist distractedly.

“Is there any possibility of us guessing how many?” Daphne inquires.

Meissa was still rubbing her wrist, thinking. She vaguely remembered her thoughts on the matter on the way from Hogwarts.

“Meissa?” she hears someone ask. Her head jerks up as she snaps out of her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“What do you have on your mind?”

Meissa glances at Daphne, thinking for a moment.

“I was thinking about the fact that Dumbledore seems like a type to put an emphasis on magical numbers,” Meissa answers simply.  “We already know that Hagrid was involved in the defense - the first line of defense. Fluffy the Cerberus is defense number one and I’m willing to bet seven galleons that there are six more lines of defenses.” (1)

“You’re that sure about this?”

“Yes,” Meissa nods. “I don’t know who else would be involved. But I have no doubt in my mind that Dumbledore would’ve added his own defense.”

“So that’s two possibilities we have.”

“Technically it would be three,” Hermione chirps in and the Slytherins arched an eyebrow at her. “Anyone who knows of the stone would be involved, right?”

Meissa nods her head slowly as she followed Hermione’s apparent line of thought. It was the same line of thought she had followed before. Anyone involved in the defense could be a potential suspect.

“Yes, but I know that Professor Snape isn’t the one who trying to get the stone,” Meissa defends vehemently.

“I’m not trying to accuse him of anything,” the Gryffindor reassure the raven-haired girl though the snort from Ron had Meissa on her feet faster than a sneeze. She had his shirt bunched in his shirt and robes with her blackthorn solid wand hovering dangerously close to Ron’s face, angry sparks of magic erupting from the tip.

“Do you have something to say to me!” she nearly snarled as his face paled in light of the current situation. She vehemently ignored the hands tugging on her clothes. “Because I swear to Hades himself! That if you don’t stop with your snark I will GLADLY give you over to my cousin!”

“Meissa!”

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Meissa’s wand flew freely from her grasp and, wandless for the time being, she shoves the redhead away from her from a disgusted snort.

“Don’t touch him again,” Harry stepped up to her, his eyes dark and thunderous.

“Or what, Potter.”

“Or you can forget about our deal.”

Meissa let a loud jarring cackle loose, everyone present jumping in shock at the suddenness of it.

“Poor little Potter,” she sneered. “Our little deal is for _your_ benefit. Not mine!”

She whirls around and storms away, just in time for the bell for DADA alerting them that they have class to go to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations & Notes:
> 
> 1) 7 Galleons - $70 roughly


	14. A Whirlwind of Trouble

Later the same day Meissa was on the top floor of the library, writing and taking quick notes of the wizarding history of Great Britain. Do anything really to get rid of the fact that she had lost her temper earlier with the Weasley boy.

She’s been around the older boys and none of them got her so angry as he does - just how is it possible for a moronic pea-brained boy to get her so riled up?

Top it off with Draco pulling off a few stints on the redhead once she made it known to the house that the youngest Weasley boy had earned her ire.

One part of her felt bad for not doing something to put a stop to his pranks once she heard of it. Another part was more than a bit pleased with the results. Her cousin was surprisingly resourceful when he tries - though she was curious as to how he managed to find a spell that would change Weasley’s robes to different colors.

On one occasion his robes were bright neon pink - which clashed horribly with the redhead’s hair - and at another occasion he reminded her of a candy cane.

“May I sit here?” she hears a low voice question. Prompting her to look up from the tome she had been flipping through.

She sees Hermione standing on the other side of the table and silently motions for her to take her seat. She had no doubt that the Gryffindor was feeling a bit unsure of herself after what had happened earlier.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asks quietly.

“In general or regarding the boy wonder?”

“Both?”

“Could’ve be better,” she answers shortly as she returned to her notes.

“What… well, what exactly happened earlier?”

“I’ve had my fill of Weasley’s antics.”

“Why now?” Hermione asks, “I mean… this isn’t the first time he behaved like that towards you.”

Meissa had nothing to say to Hermione regarding the redhead. She simply lost her temper towards him, once again, and she had no doubt that she’ll keep losing her temper.

“It’s not really his fault,” Hermione starts quietly, “He thinks that Professor Snape is going to be an unfair referee in the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.”

Meissa arches an eyebrow at this, peering up from her notes. “Professor Snape is refereeing?”

She hadn’t been expecting to hear that bit of news. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the Potion Master on a broom. She had no doubt that it would be an interesting match to watch.

“Yes, according Oliver Wood.”

“The Gryffindor Captain right?”

“Yes.”

“I see… well, I doubt Professor Snape will judge unfairly,” Meissa remarks as she dotted all the i’s and crossed the t’s in her notebook.

“Why is he refereeing anyway?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders distractedly.

“It’s possible that Headmaster Dumbledore is simply taking precautions. Or maybe Professor Snape suggested himself in hope of preventing the possibility of another jinx happening during the game.”

“Why do you believe the best in him?”

“Why do you believe the worse?”

The two of them look at each other for a long moment before Hermione sighs, seeing that the Slytherin girl had a point.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologizes.

“It’s not really me you should be apologizing to,” Meissa remarks drily before she sigh softly to herself. She didn’t see this conversation ending any time soon and she might as well just concentrate entirely on it.

“True.”

Meissa rolls her eyes and decides to leave the issue alone.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Um… You never did answer the question.”

“The one about my reaction?”

“Yeah.”

Meissa sighs. “Think of it like this, Hermione, I’ve expressed, countless times, that I firmly believe in Professor Snape’s innocence. And each time he not only affirms in his belief that Professor Snape is guilty but also shows condescension for the fact that I am a Slytherin as well as my own personal beliefs regarding the issue.”

A near sneer appeared on her face.

“If there’s one thing I will not tolerate it’s someone _patronizing_ me,” Meissa narrowed her eyes at the Gryffindor in warning. She was not going to see any other opinion or get told off for her thoughts.

“Oh Meissa,” Hermione sighs quietly before she got up to go around the table. Wrapping her arms tightly around the raven-haired girl, ignoring the way she tensed up.

It was only when she felt Meissa trembling that she actually let her go with a soft pat on her shoulders.

“Next time,” Hermione vow, “I will stop Ron before he provokes you so badly.”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re my friend, Meissa, and so is he. Is it wrong of me to want both of you to at least tolerate each other?”

A grimace shows on Meissa’s face at the question but when Hermione showed no signs of changing her mind the raven-haired girl sighs reluctantly.

“I’ll be civil,” Meissa mutters, the grimace on her face growing, “But if he does or say _anything_.” She lets the threat hang in the air and Hermione accepts it for what it is.

~MJB~

Meissa was silently casting a dancing spell, flicking her wand this and that way as she orchestrated a group of throw pillows into some elaborate dance. It was past curfew but, as she had discovered long ago, she was not the slightest bit tired.

She didn’t care if her fellow housemates still believed that Ronald Weasley was still on the outs with her. She was tempted, so tempted, to include Harry Potter in the doghouse.

She didn’t care if they were looking at her strangely for her choice of spells or even the fact that she was doing it all nonverbally.

Ever since Halloween they’ve come to realize that she tends to cast spells silently - preferring to take people off guard. In the months since that Charm class, whenever a strange mishap occurs in her vicinity people looks at her oddly. As if trying to determine if she is guilty or not.

And she didn’t care if they thought she was - she knew what she was responsible for and Daphne, often in her company when she plans out her pranks, is usually the only one to know.

“Why are you still awake?” she hears. Unbidden she thinks ‘speak of the devil and he’ll appear’.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I guess I should ask why you don’t sleep more than four hours,” Daphne remarks drily, not failing to note that the other girl had tensed at her words.

Sore subject apparently.

“So, what spell are you practicing?”

“It’s the dancing charm from earlier.”

“And you managed to do this?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders - she didn’t know how to answer the question and if she was pressed about it she would say she didn’t want to answer it.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“Are you going to bed soon?”

“Do you want the truth or lie?”

“Which do you think?”

The raven-haired girl glances up to the other girl and found that she was getting a ‘I’m waiting’ look from her. “Truth then,” Meissa drawls calmly. “I don’t feel like sleeping.”

“At all?”

“Ever.”

“That’s not exactly healthy.”

Meissa ignores the concern in the blonde’s voice, preferring to stare icily at the dancing pillows.

She was so intent on ignoring Daphne that she was taken off guard when a pair of arms wrapped around her for the second time in one day - her body tensing up so much that she couldn’t prevent the gasp from escaping her lips.

With her concentration the pillows fell freely to the ground as she grips the blonde’s arm tightly. Before she could twist Daphne’s arm away from her shoulders she feels a face press into her hair and she couldn’t make out whatever it was the blonde had muttered

Confused and more than a bit aggravated by the constant touching she squirms away from the blonde - missing the flash of something in the other girl’s eyes.

“Try and get some sleep soon,” Daphne mutters quietly before her footsteps signaled her departure.

Meissa twist around and peers into the dim stairway from her seat.

Something felt off about what just happened…

She just couldn’t figure out what.

~MJB~

The day of the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match came so quickly that Meissa found herself wondering where time went. Daphne had become withdrawn in the days since the night Meissa had been up late practicing her magic - barely saying more than five words to anyone, including Meissa. While the Black heiress in question was barely getting more than two hours of sleep and when her emotions sweep out of her control something ends up breaking.

Once a suit of armor was practically blown apart when someone had attempted a jinx against her cousin. That prompted everyone to give the cousins a clear space of at least six feet in hallways by all who have heard of the incident in question.

Regardless of her nonexistent control over her emotions and magic Draco insisted that she join him in the stands instead of hiding away like she had intended. So she found herself high in the stands though she couldn’t fathom the reason for her being in the Gryffindor stands.

Though she was glad to be near Hermione, the noise level of the excited crowd was starting to get to her and she had - once again - forgotten to take a migraine potion with her just in case. She was half ready to cast a Muffliato - though that would only work on those around her… (1)

Then she suddenly snaps her fingers as she thought of something.

“Muffliato Meissa Black!” she intones as evenly and quietly as possible, waving her wand in the required movements. Instantly there was a low buzz filling her ears, making it nearly impossible to pick up any noise from anyone else. The buzz she could tolerate over the noise of the crowd.

Though, why was Hermione talking so frantically at her.

“What?”

If it was possible Hermione started to speak even faster - not that Meissa could hear her - until finally Meissa muttered a counter-spell.

“I need your help. I’m afraid that someone’s going to try something on Harry again,” Hermione pleas.

“Isn’t Harry angry with me over what happened with Weasley?” Meissa inquires, ignoring the boy in question.

She was going to make an effort to ignore the redhead - for Hermione’s stake. And because she had a sinking feeling that Harry was going to get her friend involved in a mess sooner or later. Despite her dislikes for the boys she knew she rather be near them than standing on the sidelines hoping for the best.

“I don't care if he's angry with you or not,” Hermione retorts defiantly. “I want to be safe rather than sorry when it comes to Harry's life!”

Meissa nods her head slowly before she gets out her wand. “What's the plan?” she asks, eyeing her cousin warily. He looked like he was planning something with his cronies and she knew it wouldn't end well for anyone involved.

She listens to Hermione's rather simple plan - though she did object to their continued suspicion regarding Professor Snape. With her present in the plan now they decided that Hermione would watch Snape for anything that would probably harm Harry while Meissa would keep an eye on the teacher's stands.

The Gryffindor girl had to admit - when Meissa pointed it out - that her setting fire to Professor Snape's robes the last time could've disrupted someone else in their casting of the jinx. So anyone else in the professors’ section was likely to be as guilty as Professor Snape.

So Meissa was busy peering around for the professors - she even spot the headmaster, though she still didn't think highly of him, but so far she didn't see any suspicious activities. Although the game had yet to begin, with both teams firmly inside their locker room.

“I've never seen Snape look so mean,” Meissa overhears Ron mutter and she glances down to the Potion Master to find that his expression was absolutely thunderous. It was a face she was ultimately familiar with as a 'don't mess with me or else I will bite your head off' expression.

It made her wonder if he had been forced to become a referee by the headmaster or if he had volunteered for the task even though he knew he would be most unpleasant.

“Look, they're off - Ouch!”

Startled from her thoughts at Ron's sudden exclamation Meissa tears her eyes away from the match to find that Draco had maneuvered himself to sit behind the Weasley boy. Judging from the look on his face he had planned this all along when he dragged her to the Gryffindor's stand.

“Oh sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there,” the blonde drawls as he grinned broadly at his two idiotic friends. “Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”

To her surprise the redhead didn't answer him though when she followed his gaze she saw that he was glaring at the Potion Master. If she wasn't so sure about Weasley's inability to cast jinxes she would've said he was trying to cast one right then.

“Draco,” Meissa's voice cut through to the blonde, drawing his attention to her. “Don’t say something you will regret,” she tells him before she goes back to watching the professors.

Professor Flitwick was a Charm Master and not someone whom she would suspect. Not because of his size or because of his proficiency at charms. But because whenever she looks at him she couldn't see anything negative about him. As excitable he can get she had to respect him - besides, he held the title of Duelling Champion for ten years straight before he retired from the game to assume a teaching position.

Professor McGonagall was, to her own opinion, a bit uptight and a strickler for rules. She did not see her doing anything that would jeopardize her chance to win the Quidditch cup. Yet she had no doubt that the Scottish woman would punish her own Quidditch team if they warrant such punishment.

Professor Sprout wasn't even at the game last time, preferring to care for her plants. Although she was present this time to watch her team play.

The DADA professor, Quirrell or something like that, was watching the game with eyes that made Meissa narrow her own. She reached back blindly and grabbed Draco's binoculars, peering into them to find that the stuttering man had a dark glare on his face. She doubted his ability to cast nonverbal spells - regardless she made a note to keep an eye on the wizard from now on.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy - one more word,” she hears Ron growl lowly, snapping her from her thoughts.

“Ron!” Hermione cries suddenly, causing the redhead to leave the blonde alone. Meissa was already searching for Harry when she heard Hermione's sudden cry, finding him just in time to witness him into a spectacular dive. All around them the crowd gasped and cheered.

Besides her Hermione stood up, her fingers crossed and pressed nervously against her lips.

“You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!” Malfoy sneered. Meissa made to snap at her cousin when suddenly Ron was on top of him, wrestling her cousin to the ground. Neville, the poor terrified boy, hesitated before he clambered over to help.

Meissa was so stunned by this, torn between watching Harry and this growing whirlstorm of a fight, that she stood there for several long seconds when suddenly Hermione's excited screech broke her out of her daze. Barely registering Hermione's words she dove for the boys, wand tightly in hand, and snarled several spells at the bickering boys.

At Crabbe and Goyle she cast a spell her godfather made, the spell lofting them up by an ankle. She cast a quick healing spell at Neville's face to stop the bleeding, giving him a quick pat on his shoulder. She was glad he was standing up for himself - though she didn't want to be him when his gran sends him a howler.

She barely wasted any time separating the boys, casting the Incarcerous spell at her cousin before stepping between Ron and Draco to keep the redhead from attacking her cousin while he's down.

“I dare say you had enough,” Meissa drawls as she eyes the redhead. She wasn't going to let him continue beating her cousin up. It's bad enough that she'll be seen as a traitor for casting spells at her own house mates. She had no doubt her godfather was going to get on her arse for the display.

“Step aside.”

“Weasley,” Meissa drawls, “Don’t think that just because you're a boy you can out best me.”

His face turns a violent red but before he could say anything Hermione's voice reached their ears.

Gryffindor had won. They were in the lead.

Ron eyes her warily, his nose bleeding heavily, before he jerks his head over to the side where they could go to rejoin Hermione. Meissa lets him go first before kneeling by her red faced cousin.

“Draco,” she mutters quietly, her hand tugging on the ropes around his chest. She forces him up into a sitting position. “I didn't hear everything you said, but I did hear the bit about the money.” She levels a cold glare at him.

“Sometimes, cousin of mine, I think you forget that you live off your parents' money. Off your ancestors' money. You think you're entitled, right?” She doesn't wait for him to nod or shake his head - since his mouth was currently gagged.

“Someday you're going to have to see that you're at the mercy of your parents. Your father, should he want to, could disown you and leave you penniless,” she whispers softly into his ear, her voice icy cold in her rage.

“Then you'd be worse off in comparison to the boy you mock. Without a knut to your name.” She pulls away from him, arching an eyebrow at him. “Then what would you do?”

She lets go of the ropes on him before walking away, humming a nursery rhyme from her childhood. Just as she was about to disappear from the area altogether she lifts up her wand and, without missing or skipping a note in the rhyme, cast an finite incantatem over the boys.

~MJB~

Meissa was with Hermione when Harry finally turned up, breathless. Hermione was still excited over the win and - Meissa suspects this - relieved that nothing had happened during the match.

Other than Ron and Neville getting in a fight with the Slytherin boys.

“We won! You won! We won!” Ron shouted, his nose bleed gone at this point with a healing spell from Meissa. “And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed!” he waves a hand towards Meissa. “She kept him from being knocked out cold by using some weird spell to hang them by their feet! It was wicked!”

Meissa smirks at his words - prompting the boy to turn red and add, “For a Slytherin.”

“Aw, Weasley, you're turning soft,” she cackles, her lips twisted in a mischievous grin.

“Never mind that now,” Harry interrupts, still breathless. “Let's find an empty room. You wait 'til you hear this...”

Meissa arches a brow at him - for someone who just won a match in less than five minutes he was behaving oddly. She follows them to a room, ordered Peeves out by threatening to call the Bloody Baron on him if he didn't listen, and settled on a creaky old desk.

It didn't take long for the boy to explain what he had seen and overheard in the Forbidden forest. Quirrell and Snape in the forest, talking about the stone and the Cerberus.

“So we were right, it is the Philosopher's stone!” Harry was saying excitedly, “And Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it!”

“Or maybe Professor Snape was trying to prevent Quirrell from getting the stone,” Meissa speaks up.

Hermione glances worriedly between the two sides again but then saw Harry frowning thoughtfully at her.

“Why do you believe that he wouldn't try and grab the stone for himself?”

Meissa sighs softly to herself. “Because, Harry, he has no motive.”

“Who needs motive when the stone can spit out pounds after pounds of gold?” Ron sneered.

“That sounds like a motive for you, Weasley,” Meissa snaps. “Merlin knows that your family needs it.”

“Take that back!”

“I will when you start thinking!”

“Enough!” Harry shouts. The two of them falls silent as they watched Harry think.

“If what you say is true, Meissa, why does he keep harping on Professor Quirrell?”

Meissa could only shrug her shoulders at that question. She had a theory or two about it but until she understood the situation a bit more she wasn't about to go telling the trio about it.

“Even if Snape is innocent,” Hermione speaks up, glancing at her friends. “There's still a matter of Quirrell and the stone.”

“How so?” Meissa asks.

“Suppose,” Hermione starts lightly, her voice holding a pleading sound to it, “Snape was trying to force Quirrell to help him get it.” Meissa grimaced at the phrasing but saw that Hermione wasn't trying to accuse the Potion Master of anything. “The fact that Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell know of the stone means that we can count them as the contributors for the stone's defenses. Hagrid and Dumbledore makes four.”

“Who else?” Harry wonders.

“Harry,” Meissa warns, “If we start figuring out who would be involved it's possible we would be putting ourselves in danger.”

“Aren't we already in danger?” Ron interrupts and Harry nods his head in agreement.

Meissa made a face but sighed reluctantly. “Fine. I'm willing to bet that Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick is involved too.”

“Why those two?”

“They teach the core classes of magic,” Meissa answer simply.

“That makes no sense at all.”

The raven haired girl sighs and tries to find a way to explain her suspicions.

“I believe that Headmaster Dumbledore had a reason to put the stone here in Hogwarts. And that reason would mean that his defenses would be simple but not _overly_ simple.”

“Where did you even come up with this?” Ron asks, almost gobsmacked by her theory. Hermione seemed to be the only one to realize the implication of what she was saying, her eyes widening as she pointed at the raven-haired girl.

“I spend a lot of time thinking,” Meissa answers with a shrug, making a pointed effort to not look at the Gryffindor girl. 

“Never mind that,” Hermione interrupts before looking at Meissa, “Who do you think would be the seventh contributor?”

Meissa scratches her neck idly, thinking it over. “Let’s see… I’m sure Dumbledore would be involved. We know about Hagrid. Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell know of the stone so they must be involved. I’ll bet fifty galleons that Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout contributed something. Which leaves Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Astronomy. Astronomy and History of Magic is rather useless for defense of anything so that leaves Transfiguration.” (2)

“Professor McGonagall??” Ron blurts out in disbelief, prompting Meissa to arch an eyebrow at him.

“Find that hard to believe?”

Hermione shook her head but the boys were still staring at her in disbelief. She just rolls her eyes at them before deciding that she’s been gone enough from the others. So she bid them farewell and left for the Slytherin dormitories.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations & Notes:
> 
> (1) **Muffliato** \- spell intended to ensure privacy in a conversation in public
> 
> (2) 50 Galleons - $500 roughly


	15. There's a Conspiracy, Man!

Meissa was quickly fed up with Daphne’s distant behavior. Now that she had a firm grasp on her emotions - a good fight did seem to put her in a good sort of moods - she could see that something was bothering her friend.

But whenever she gets close enough to the blonde she could see that whatever was bothering her, it wasn’t something external. Daphne was apparently struggling with something internally but for the life of her Meissa couldn’t figure out what.

It was nearing a point where she wanted to corner the blonde in a room and force her to talk. She suspected that whatever happens it probably wouldn’t end too well for both of them but had no other idea on how to deal with the problem. 

Two days after the Quidditch match Meissa found Daphne just before supper and dragged her off to an empty classroom. Her dark eyes narrowed at the blonde when she tried to make an escape.

“Talk to me,” Meissa bites out.

“Why?”

Meissa frowns at the aloof girl.

“Aren’t we friends?”

“We are.”

“Shouldn’t you tell me what’s bothering you then?”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Daphne sighs. “I’m hurt.” Meissa frowns worriedly, her eyes searching over the blonde for any visible injury. “It’s not a physical hurt.”

“What happened?”

“…I…Do you remember that day… you got into a near fight with the Weasley boy?” Daphne asks quietly, getting a slow but hesitant nod from the other girl. “I… when I hugged you…” Meissa’s eyes widened at this. “You rejected my touch totally.”

Meissa grimaced at this - realizing that she had unintentionally hurt her friend with her dismissal.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes as sincerely as she could manage. “I… I’ve never liked being touched, even on the best of days,” she mutters. “But… that day, I was already hugged once already and I just…” She struggles to find the words. “You touched me from behind and I - I just. I don’t like the feel of being touched when I can’t see the person.”

Daphne’s frown just grew larger with each word she uttered and Meissa ended up feeling like a bigger failure for not being able to convey her feelings.

“I’m sorry…”

“Oh Meissa, you don’t have to apologize,” Daphne whispers, opening her arms despite what Meissa just said.

Meissa was torn between running from the offered hug and accepting it because she could see that Daphne needed the hug more than she did. That just because herself hated being touch doesn’t mean everyone else does.

After a long moment she wraps her arms around the blonde, her body tense but she stayed in the embrace for as long as two minutes before her tension got too bad for her to stay in the hug.

“Sorry…”

“No,” Daphne shook her head and gives her a watery smile. “Don’t be sorry.” Daphne gives her a look. “It’s my fault. I should’ve known that you weren’t going to react well.”

Meissa grimaces, “I guess it was obvious I didn’t like being touched…”

“Just a bit.”

Meissa rolls her eyes halfheartedly at the blonde. “Look… I’ll make more an effort to work on my reaction.”

“And I’ll work on not getting so offended if you don’t want to be touched.”

They exchange tiny smiles before leaving the room with a lighter bounce to their step.

~MJB~

Meissa was quiet, her wand moving in tandem with Daphne, as they practiced casting spells. They had it in their minds that they should work on being in sync with each other. Meissa trusted a rare few people and she didn’t see herself partnering up with Draco, Hermione she wouldn’t mind partnering up with the Gryffindor if there was a need for it.

Draco is a bit uptight in her opinion and his spell work needed improvement. Improvement he wasn’t likely to allow her to help with, far too stubborn to really take heed of her advice. He was often unwilling to bend - his personality meant that he wouldn’t well suited to her style.

Hermione was a brilliant witch but Meissa had a feeling that Hermione would spend too much time thinking out the duel to be able to chain her spells. She suspected that given enough time Hermione will eventually stop over thinking but for the time being she wanted to let Hermione grow as a witch first.

Daphne on the other hand. She was malleable, flexible, and willing to learn. And with every lesson Meissa gave her she got better. Now, they were capable of recognizing signs of preparing for a specific spell or whatnot.

Meissa particularly enjoyed working with the blonde though she had a good sense to think that if they ever got mad at each other their familiarity with each other would prevent them from ever effectively using spells on each other. She couldn’t tell if this was good news or bad news.

Whatever it meant she knew that from this point onwards the balance between them would be equal. Well, as equal as it possibly could be with Meissa being essentially more advanced in comparison to the other girl.

“Meissa?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“Regarding what?”

They exchange a look that told Meissa exactly what Daphne was asking about.

“… I think that whoever is after the stone won’t stop until they get it,” Meissa answers honestly.

“What do you suppose we do?”

“At the moment I don’t really have an idea.” Daphne gives her a disbelieving look. “Okay so maybe I do have a few ideas on what we should do.” The blonde gives her a look that indicated she should share her ideas.

“Normally I would say we should keep out of the business of the school. But seeing that Headmaster had placed a powerful alchemist tool in our school and placed potentially dangerous line of defenses around it…” Meissa’s dark eyes twinkles mischievously.

“Please don’t tell me that we’re going nose around.” Daphne pleas after noticing the look on her face.

“Okay,” Meissa drawls easily, “I won’t tell you.”

“Oh, I was afraid you were going to say that,” the blonde groans as she palms her face.

“I rather be aware of what’s happening around us,” Meissa remarks.

“I know, I know. So what’s first?”

“Well… we know that Fluffy is the first line of defense,” Meissa comments.

“We know who else is involved too,” Daphne adds in.

“We just don’t know what they added.”

“Except that it has something to do with their subject?”

“Yes… So for Professor Sprout - Herbology. Probably something that is normally taught in the First Year’s lessons.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders and glances around - she didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of Hogwarts.

“I have a suspicion about the Headmaster and his plans,” she answers simply, thinking about the various things happening this year.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’ll find out sooner or later, Daphne.”

“You’re being mean on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” Meissa answers carefully. “Honestly though, I don’t think it would be a good idea to talk about it right now.” The Black heiress eyes her friend and realizes that her words was being taken the wrong way. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she hurries to correct, “It’s just that it’s a bit dangerous to be talking about something like this where we could be overheard.”

Daphne’s eyes widen suddenly as she caught on what her friend was trying to say. “Then where do you suggest we go?”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders - her paranoia about being overheard meant that she didn’t want to have the conversation anywhere in Hogwarts. She had no doubt that the Headmaster probably have spells in place that would allow him to monitor conversations - the fact that there have been multiple conversations regarding the Philosopher’s Stone held in classrooms or quiet corners concerns her. And she suspected that the Gryffindors often talked about the stone whenever they had a private moment - or whenever Hermione wasn’t bugging the boys to do their homework.

In any case they were already in the training grounds, just past the area where they been having their flying lessons, away from the towers and the classrooms near the middle courtyard. If she was anyone else she would’ve said that they were safe here but Meissa would’ve preferred being near the Forbidden forest or the Black Lake.

To go to either place, however, meant that they would have to go clear across Hogwarts and past the clock tower.

“Do you really want to have this conversation now?” she asks Daphne.

“What better time than now?”

Meissa sighs before she slides her wand back into its’ holster. “Alright then, let’s go.”

“What about the dummies?”

Meissa glances over at the target dummies, wincing when she realized that their practicing had meant that they were pretty well damaged at this point. She wasn’t sure how many Reparo spells would be needed to fix them. “We probably should leave those to the professors. I don’t think we can undo the damages ourselves.”

Daphne arches an eyebrow at the raven-haired girl. It wasn’t like her to forego a chance to practice any particular spell. As eager as she was to find out what was going through Meissa’s mind she had to wonder if the other girl was hurting herself in the long run thinking about this.

Meissa, on the other hand, was completely unaware of what was going through Daphne’s mind, Intent on stretching her limbs as far as she could, glad that the dull aches in her bones and muscles have faded away at this point. Although there was still a lingering stab of pain whenever the air turns heavy with the forecast of rain.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Meissa reaches back and tugs on the blonde’s sleeve, ushering her along until she knew that the other girl was going to follow at her own violation.

~MJB~

Daphne runs up to the shore, breathing deeply as the breeze rushed in from off the surface. Her hair flying all over the place and forced her to push her loose strands away from her face. While Meissa was walking more sedately, her strides long yet casual.

“We should come here more often,” Daphne turns around, gathering her hair into one of her hands to restrain it from getting in her face.

Meissa gives a half smile at the other girl - she wasn’t quite sure how she feels about sharing her hideaway but she knew that it was likely going to be safe to talk there.

“So, about the Headmaster’s plans,” Daphne opens up as Meissa was making herself comfortable on the beach, collecting smooth flat pebbles about the size of her palm.

“Think about it,” Meissa looks up to see that Daphne was still struggling with her hair, “Seven defenses, formed by seven wizards teaching here. Though I use teaching loosely with Hagrid involved.”

“Hagrid aside I’m not seeing what you’ve clearly seen.”

Meissa picks one of the pebbles up and gives it to Daphne. “Who do you think would be best for building defenses for an item that may attract dangerous wizards?”

“Aurors,” Was Daphne’s immediate answer.

“Yet who was chosen to create the first line of defense?”

“Hagrid.”

Meissa skips a pebble, counting softly to herself before it sinks after the fifth skip.

“What do you know about him?”

“Um… not much. Although he seems to be…” Daphne trails off before she could say something that could offend.

“Be honest,” Meissa tells her distantly, “I’m not going to get prissy if you say something wrong.”

Daphne sighs as she twists her hair into a ponytail - completely eliminating the need for a tie. “Well, he seems to have a bit of a loose tongue.” Meissa nods her head in agreement - not that the blonde saw this. “I mean, I don’t really know him but he not only blurted out that he loan his pet Fluffy to the Headmaster he revealed information we shouldn’t have known.”

“Exactly.” Meissa tilts her head to meet Daphne’s. “Harry told me that the day he went to get his things for Hogwarts, Hagrid and him went to Gringotts.” She sees the questioning look in her friend’s eyes but made a motion that told her to be patient. “That day, Hagrid emptied vault 713.”

“Wait, isn’t that the same vault that was reportedly broken into but nothing was taken?”

Meissa arches an eyebrow at the blonde, curious as to how she made the connection so quickly - she couldn’t remember if the newspapers had mentioned a vault number.

“Yes,” she decides to answer instead of questioning her friend. In all likelihood, someone in her family had connections and they mentioned it in passing.

“So… that means that the person after the stone is a powerful Dark Wizard,” Daphne breathes before she turns worriedly towards her friend. “Are you sure we should be nosing around? I mean, it’s one thing to try and solve a puzzle and another thing to stop a Dark Wizard.”

Meissa shrugs her shoulders - she honestly didn’t know herself. She wanted to stay out of the matter herself but if her suspicions were right she couldn’t not be involved.

Daphne saw the hard look in her friend’s eyes and sighs to herself - it didn’t take a genius to know that Meissa was going to see this mess through to the end. “Fine, so where were you going with this?”

“Right, so, if you were someone who values secrets and faced not one but two different wars in your lifetime would you trust someone with a loose tongue to not only pick up something from Gringotts but also contribute to the defenses of said item?”

“I… no, I wouldn’t,” Daphne frowns as she starts to realize what Meissa was implying. “So… You think that Professor Dumbledore deliberately chose Hagrid for his loose tongue?” Meissa nods her head, her eyes encouraging her to take it further. “Who does Hagrid spend his time with?”

“Aside from Fang? Our lovely Gryffindor friends.”

Daphne accepts an offered pebble from Meissa, thinking. “Harry… is he doing this because of Harry?”

Meissa actually couldn’t confirm or deny this bit. She hadn’t even thought about why he was doing it. Trying to figure out the mystery surrounding Fluffy the Cerberus and further attempts to unravel what else would be guarding it had taken up most of her time. But now that she was, she could see Dumbledore setting up an elaborate scheme.

“If he is… then what is his motives. I mean, Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived. The only one who survived Vold-”

“Don’t say his name!”

Meissa shoots the girl an unimpressed look. “I’m not saying that ridiculous phrase,” she retorts with an eye roll.

“But-.”

“No buts, Daphne. So you decide, Dark Lord or Voldemort?” She ignores the flinch and waits for Daphne to look at her. If anyone heard her they would think that she is an avid follower of his. Not that they weren’t already thinking that the second they hear her surname.

Daphne groans as she finally sits down next to Meissa, burying her face in her hands in disbelief. “If you start referring to him as the Dark Lord then people are going to assume that you’re going to aspire to be a Death Eater.” The Black heiress nods once in agreement with Daphne’s observation. “Fine,” she mutters, “use his name. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Meissa chuckles softly under her breath, amused by her friend’s reaction though she did casually wrap an arm around the blonde’s shoulders. Briefly squeezing her close before letting go.

“So, Voldemort - Harry is the only one to ever survive the Killing Curse. Do you think he died that night?”

“Harry or him?” Daphne catches the pointed look from her friend. “Right… um, I don’t really know.” The blonde turns the pebble round and round in her hand, thinking. “I know that my parents were really glad that he was gone.”

Meissa rest her chin on her fist, staring distantly at the far horizon. “Mine… well, I know what everyone says about mother’s last words before Azkaban.”

Daphne frowns at her friend before she bumps shoulders with the raven-haired girl. “Do you think Professor Dumbledore believes he’s still alive?”

“I don’t know what he thinks - maybe he’s a paranoid old coot with some grand design-” She trails off as something occurs to her. “He’s a paranoid coot with a grand design,” she breathes before she palms her face.

It takes Daphne a moment to realize what her friend was going on about. “You really think he would do something like that?”

“I have no doubt. If he’s so paranoid - to the point that he would believe that Voldemort still lives, then he might believe that Harry would be the only one to stop him…” Meissa huffs as she leans back onto her hands. “Or he could be a glory seeking coot and wants another Order of Merlin for the defeat of a Dark Lord.”

“Have anyone told you that you have very dark thoughts?”

“Thank you,” Meissa smirks at the blonde, getting a fond eye-roll from the other girl.

“So… we’re no closer to figuring out what Professor Dumbledore have planned, do we?”

“Well…” The Black heiress shrugs her shoulders, “I dare say we know better than to blindly accept whatever he says.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re the paranoid one.”

“I’m likely am,” she chuckles before she skips a pebble across the surface of the lake. “But someone has to think the worse… and I don’t see anyone else stepping up to the plate.”

“You don’t have to do it alone…”

Meissa smiles warily at the other girl before she bumps shoulders with her. “As much as I appreciate that, there’s no sense in both of us walking the darkness.”

Daphne shakes her head before she leans her head against the other girl’s shoulder. “Just… let me know when it gets too much?”

“Is that another promise you want?”

“I do ask for a lot, don’t I?”

“It seems to be your way of showing you care.” The girls smile at each other - a bright one on the blonde’s face and a small hesitant one on the brunette’s - before Meissa sifts her weight, dislodging Daphne from her shoulder. “I’ll try,” she mutters quietly before the other girl could complain.

Daphne pauses, searching her friend’s face, before she nods once in acceptance. It was, in essence, the best she was going to get from the other girl. She takes the pebble in her hand and tries to skip it only for it to plunk right into the lake.

Meissa starts at the suddenness of the wet plop before her shoulders starts shaking. Worried that she had done something to her Daphne looks worriedly at her. Only to find that her shoulders were shaking out of laughter - the sound soft yet slowly growing until she was cackling mad with glee.

Daphne shakes her head, fighting the slight shiver from her friend’s laughter. “How do you do it?”

“It takes a bit,” she smirks at the blonde before she hands Daphne a new pebble. She then twist her hand, her wand sliding into her palm. “I find it easier to skip rocks using the levitation charm.”

Daphne mock glares at the other girl, “Were you skipping the rocks with your magic?”

“I’m good,” Meissa teases, “but not that good.”

The blonde rolls her eyes at the other girl before she receives her own wand. The pair passing time skipping rocks with the help of the levitation charm.

~MJB~

Meissa was waiting for Hermione outside the library a few days after the conversation she had with Daphne. She knew that Hermione was researching what the professors might use in their formation of the stone’s defenses - she has no doubt that she was studying for her exams too - but she needed to ask her something. That and she wanted to know if she was interested in a study partner who actually does their homework.

She isn’t sure how much time passed but eventually Hermione did round the corner, pausing when she spots the raven-haired girl waiting by the doors. She didn’t look like she was there for pleasure. 

“Meissa?”

“Ello, ‘Mione,” the raven-haired girl greets. “Have you a moment to spare?”

Hermione props a hand on her hip. “Is it truly just a moment you want?”

She got a slight mischievous look from her friend and rolls her eyes at the other girl. “It may take more than just one moment but I will try not to take too much of your time.”

Hermione shakes her head as she reaches for her friend, grabbing her hand and tugged her away from the library. “What is it you want to talk about?”

“Several things, to be honest,” Meissa confesses as they take to roaming through the halls though she took the halls that would surely lead them to the quad and from there they could head to the relative privacy of the Black Lake. “Mostly I want to know if you and your friends have been taking precautions?”

“Well, we’ve been making sure that Fluffy is still around and I think the boys have been trying to encourage Professor Quirrell.”

“Even with my suspicions?” Meissa asks incredulity before she seems to recollect herself, “Wait, you’ve been going to the third floor?” She leans in, pulling the girl closer, as she hisses, “Do you have any idea how dangerous that could’ve been? You could’ve been seen.”

“But we weren’t,” Hermione defends.

“Fine, fine,” she mutters, dropping the issue. Perhaps sensing that Hermione wouldn’t see the danger she saw and she had not the heart or desire to tell her. “In any case, I wasn’t talking about checking on Fluffy or whatever else you been doing,” she switch tactics, “You haven’t been talking about it here, right?” 

Hermione looks over to her friend, first amused and then puzzled by what she was trying to say before understanding sinks in. “I haven’t,” she confesses. “I’m not sure about Harry or Ron but I haven’t spoken of it.”

“Great… that means we could be in danger,” Meissa groans quietly to herself, running her hand through her hair in frustration.

“Meissa?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Now you’re not being fair,” Hermione crosses her arms at the Slytherin. “Can’t you trust me?”

“Mione, it’s not a matter of not trusting you,” Meissa wraps an arm around the Gryffindor’s shoulders, releasing her quickly before they stepped into the quad.

As much as she hated contact she had to admit to herself that other people don’t share her opinion. While Hogwarts was likely to be accustomed to the sight of them in each other’s presence it wasn’t used to them touching each other.

“I just… I’m a paranoid fool,” Meissa smiles warily at the other girl. “I just think that we should be careful about when and where we talk about it.”

“You’re acting like you expect someone to have placed bugs around us.”

“Bugs?”

“Uh, it’s a Muggle term,” Hermione tries to think of a way that would explain the concept. “You understand that we use electricity?”

Meissa shrugs halfheartedly, “I know of it but it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I’ll explain electricity to you later. Right now, bugs are what we call these little… devices that allows a person to eavesdrop on a conversation while not being present for it.”

“Not present…?” Meissa repeats quietly, puzzled. “There are other ways to eavesdrop?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione tries to clarify. “It’s more like… recording the conversation to be played back again later.”

“Oh! Like a Pensieve!” Hermione shoots her a puzzled look. “A person can temporarily or permanently store their memories in a Pensieve and just about anyone can view them while they are stored inside the basin.”

“That would still require the person to be present for the conversation, right?” Hermione asks, prompting Meissa to pout as she realize that it was still a bit of a difference. With a low laugh Hermione nudges at her friend. “It’s a good comparison though.”

“Not good enough,” the raven-haired girl grouses though she did flash a brief mischievous grin at the Gryffindor. Still, she refrained from mentioning the stone or why she was so paranoid until they were past the entrance hall and outside the general vicinity of the castle walls.

 


	16. Studying and Dragons??

Meissa had led Hermione to the shore of Black Lake before she was willing to have an in-depth conversation with her regarding the stone and its’ defenses. Even then she was wary of being too loud and obvious - and told her as much. Hermione looked skeptical at first but she decided not to begrudge her friend’s paranoia.

And so Meissa explains to Hermione the conclusion Daphne and her had came to the other day - all while keeping a mindful eye on their surroundings. How they suspect that the headmaster may have an ulterior motive in mind - that he may be so paranoid to believe the return of Voldemort.

“Aren’t you being too paranoid now?” Hermione asks after it was clear to her that Meissa was done talking. “I mean, he’s renown across the country for the defeat of a Dark Lord!”

“I know,” Meissa whispers lowly, “But you can’t deny that things are a bit suspicious. I mean, he used Hagrid to not only fetch the item but for the first line of defense? You can’t tell me he doesn’t know about the fact that the man has a tongue looser than a bar of soap.”

“That makes no sense!”

“It makes perfect sense ‘Mione!”

“No, I’m talking about your analogy. A bar of soap, really?”

Meissa glowers at her friend and snaps her fingers at her, “Focus, ‘Mione, focus.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I can’t really think negatively of the professor…”

“That’s fine. But you understand my concern, right?”

“Well, of course… but.”

“But what?”

“Why would he want to do something like this?”

Meissa didn’t really have an answer for that. She has no idea why he would do anything - she has her suspicions as to what his plans may be but not the motives or the end goal. She suspects that it involves Harry - so far the events around Hogwarts seem to suggest that he was trying to encourage Harry’s sense of recklessness.

“I don’t really know…” She sighs as she tucks her hands away into the pockets of her trousers. “But I thought it would be best for you to know my suspicions now rather than later.”

Hermione reaches a hand over to her friend, pressing her palm against the brunette’s bicep - she felt the twitch of Meissa flinching away. “I appreciate it,” she tells the other girl, ignoring the reaction she had. “And I will keep it in mind,” she promises, moving her hand up to her shoulder, sensing the small tremors in the Slytherin’s body.

“Thanks,” Meissa mutters before the contact gets too much for her and took a small step away from Hermione’s hand. “Keep me updated on what’s going on, ok?”

“Of course,” Hermione agrees easily. “Is there anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Meissa picks up a pebble from the beach they were standing on, skipping the pebble with a flick of her wrist. “Oh!” she snaps her fingers as she recalls the other thing she wanted to bring up. “Do you want to study together?”

Hermione looks surprised at first, not expecting to have received an offer from someone. “It’ll be appreciated,” she finally decides, “Oh, would  you mind helping me tutor the boys?”

Meissa grimaces at the suggestion, “Have they been making an effort to do their homework?” she asks, almost pleading for a yes. Though the look on Hermione’s face seems to suggest that no, they have not. “Ugh, that’ll be so much fun,” she groans in disbelief.

She glances at Hermione’s hopeful face and sighs, “Okay. But I’ll bring Daphne with me. There’s no way I’ll have the patience to deal with them for hours on end.”

Hermione giggles as she hooks her arm with the Slytherin. “That’s fine with me, so long she’s willing to help me with Harry and Ron.” The Gryffindor girl shakes her head in exasperation.

“Honestly, those boys should be focusing on their studies.”

“What do you do to study?”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione shoots her friend a look that implied she should know what she meant. But all she got from Meissa was a confused look. “I mean… do you have any special tricks to study?”

“Oh~! That’s what you mean!” Meissa chuckles warily, squirming at the prolonged contact. “I just… study?”

“Do you retain everything you read?”

“No?”

“What’s with the question? Either it’s yes or no.”

“Well, I’m not really sure what you mean.”

Hermione rolls her eyes as she releases her friend’s arm. “Do you find it easy to recall things?”

“No.”

“Do you have an instant understanding of what you read?”

“Sometimes?” Meissa hesitates in answering the question, confused and essentially thrown off by the questions. “Honestly, ‘Mione, what are you fishing for?”

“Well, I was wondering if you have photographic memory.”

“…What?”

Hermione sighs and set out to explain the concept to the Slytherin girl, leading her back to Hogwarts now that the more serious conversation have been resolved.

~MJB~

The Easter holidays arrived with little fanfare, with the professors loading them with tons of homework on top of the studying they needed to do in order to pass their first year.

Meissa was quick to lose her patience with the boys and Daphne was often intervening to keep the Black heiress from blasting them into oblivion. Daphne was patient when it came to trying to teach the boys something although Ron’s frequent derision towards Daphne often provoked Meissa to spelling his mouth shut.

Once she snarled the incantation so loudly she got a glare from the librarian and a stern reprimand - though she was not instructed to undo the spell. When her senses came back to her Meissa later reflected that Madam Pince was relieved to not hear Ron’s voice for the duration of the spell.

In either case, Meissa was penning out a rough idea of what her essay would contain. Daphne was reading an essay Meissa had written for Transfiguration - marking corrections, either spelling or grammar, for Meissa to review later when she rewrites it. Harry was looking up ‘Dittany’ for his potion paper in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Hermione was practicing the wand gestures for a transfiguration spell - repeatedly going through the same set of gestures.

Meissa briefly recalls her godfather having her research the various ingredients commonly used in potions. Dittany, however, she recalls the most due to her frequent scrapes and the like when she was growing up. She had to consume tiny portions of it a few times due to minor injuries refusing to heal, either by spell or naturally.

Ron, on the other hand, was still moaning and groaning about being inside despite the excellent weather they were experiencing. The sky was a clear blue shade that could make people feel a weightless sensation and the wind carried with it the warmth of summer.

“I’ll never remember this!” Ron bursts out, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled around them, throwing down his quill.

“Merlin’s beard,” Meissa swore quietly, “don’t you ever stop whining, Weasley?”

“I’m not whining!” Ron protests, “How can you stand being inside on such a brilliant day?!”

“Could you not argue so loudly?” Daphne cuts in before they could get any louder. She knew that her friend would probably snap at the redhead and do something drastic - possibly something far worse in comparison to having his mouth sealed temporarily.

“Sorry,” Meissa apologizes to the blonde, not bothering to tear her attention from the boy across from her. “If  you’d just do your work when you needed to instead of putting it off to the last second then we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“Oi!” he jumps up, knocking his chair over and caused a loud ruckus.

“You’re going to get us kicked out!” Hermione hisses at the redhead.

“I ought to make him a midget,” Meissa grumps, her dominate hand raised as if she was prepared to free her wand from its’ holster. “Maybe two inches tall so that he can scream all he wants and not draw attention to us.”

“Correction,” Daphne drawls from her seat as she points to her friend, “ _she_ ’s going to get us kicked out.”

“Hey,” the raven-haired girl protests with a wry smirk - halfheartedly shoving at her friend for her comment.

“Hagrid!” Ron suddenly cries, prompting everyone to look away from their respective tasks to find that the giant of a man was standing near the end of the bookshelves that created their little nook. “What are you doing in the library?”

Meissa narrows her eyes at him, watching him shuffle into view with his arms behind his back. She still didn’t know him too well but suspects that him walking around with his hands behind his back wasn’t something he’d normally do. Not only that but the whole gesture was suspicious.

Not to mention he looked out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

She pause at that thought before deciding that it really wasn’t time to be making fashion judgments.

“Jus’ lookin’,” Hagrid answers in a shifty voice that caught their attention at once. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” Meissa didn’t miss the way he deflected attention from his actions. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” Ron says, acting like he was some big shot for finding it - Meissa had to scoff at him trying to take the credit for the discovery. Even if he was unaware of her involvement Meissa knew that Hermione had been the one to reveal the information to the boys and therefore should’ve been the one to retrieve credit. “And we know what that dog’s guarding.”

Meissa jerks her head up from the book she was skimming, throwing her palm out as she snaps out a ‘Silencio’. To her shock and vague amusement his voice died in his mouth just before he could finish the rest of his sentence. (1)

“Now you’re doing wandless magic?” Hermione asks in disbelief.

“Um,” Meissa flexes her fingers, still a bit amused that she managed that little feat. Though it could’ve gone very, very wrong. “I think that was a fluke,” she remarks.

“I swear, Meissa, you’re far too advanced for your own good,” Daphne shakes her head in disbelief while Ron has taken to gesturing as he tries to grab someone’s attention.

Hagrid still hasn’t left in the moments that had transpired since Meissa had silenced the redhead. “Aren’t yer gonna undo the spell?” he asks the raven-haired Slytherin nervously.

“It should wear off on its own,” Meissa dismisses. “Anyway, as Ron was so thoughtlessly saying we know what’s in there.”

“Sh~!” Hagrid hisses, glancing around  nervously, “Don’t go shoutin’ bout it.” Meissa tilts her head in confusion - she hadn’t been talking louder than a normal conversation level. “What’s the matter with yeh?”

“Actually, there are a few things we wanted to ask you,” Harry starts, “about what’s guarding the-.”

This time Meissa was ready with her wand and she cast a quick ‘Silencio’ on him as well before Daphne snatches her wand away.

“Stop casting the silencing charm on the boys!” Hermione scolds.

“Wha~? They were being all thoughtless!” Meissa defends, her motives were pure though she was actually grateful for the fact that they were now silent. 

Hagrid was starting to edge away from them - something the boys both saw and started to gesture wildly at the girls. Hermione was the first to notice and turned to find him trying to sneak away.

“Hold on, Hagrid, we still want to ask you some questions about it,” Hermione calls him back.

“Listen - come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about it in here,” Hagrid tries to leave. “Students aren’t s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve  told yeh-”

Harry was still gesturing but this time he settled for a goodbye wave before he points at Meissa and his mouth. Hagrid took this chance to shuffle off.

“Wha~?” she tilts her head at him before she gathers what he’s trying to say and points at Daphne who still held her wand. “She has my wand, go ask her to dispel the charm!”

The Blackthorn wand shone in the lighting of the library, a result of the tender care Meissa puts into her wand. Her wand, from what she had observed so far in casual observations, was unique in its own sort of way - the wood black near the bottom of the wand, lightening gradually until it reached the tip where it is white in a similar shade of Hermione’s wand. With the handle formed by grooves made long reaching… something that reminds her vaguely of bones.

Her wand’s solid state meant that even if she lost a duel with someone the loyalty of her wand would not be won from her - though she still needed to win the loyalty from her wand. Though it performs the spells she cast flawlessly there was still a barrier between the wand and her.

“Maybe we should leave them like this,” Daphne teases, a mischievous smirk on her face.

Ron started making wild gestures that threatened to hit someone smack in the face. Meissa just leaned away from him, picking up the quill she had dropped when Ron was being noisy.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” Hermione wonders, peering into the direction where he had shuffled off to.

“Do you think it had something to do with…” Daphne trails off meaningfully, arching a fine eyebrow at the Gryffindor girl. Hermione could only shrug her shoulders, clearly unwilling to make an assumption. Ron made a gesture as he stood up, pointing in the direction Hagrid had appeared from and at his eyes before he stalks off. Disappearing around the bend to where Hagrid had likely been before he was spotted.

Meissa glances at Daphne and made a gesture for her wand, the look she was giving to the other girl made it plain that she _really_ wanted it back. Though the blonde wanted to keep the other girl from casting even more silencing spells she saw that there was something almost… desperate glinting in the Black heiress’ eyes. So she gave the wand back, just so that she didn’t have to see the desperate look in her eyes again.

With the wand back in hand Meissa cast a Finite Incantatem on Harry who immediately hummed a few notes before looking incredibly relieved to have his voice back. “Please don’t do that again,” he pleads with Meissa.

“If you’d stop talking about it where someone can overhear you then yes I’ll stop,” Meissa retorts, flicking her bangs out of her face.

She glances at her essay but before she could even set the tip of the quill to the parchment Ron came back burdened with a stack of books, dropping them onto the table with a loud bang. He then lifts one of the books, jabbing at the title where ‘Dragon’ could be plainly seen.

Meissa looks up after she caps her inkwell - grateful that she had managed to slap a hand down on it before it could spill over due to the table shaking. Her eyes land on the title before she registers what she was seeing. 

“Dragons!” Meissa breathes in awe before she snatches a book off the top of the stack, excited by this treasure trove of information. “I never thought to come here for books on dragons,” she mutters as she turns the pages to study its’ contents.

“Hagrid was looking up things about dragons?” Hermione picks up one of the books. “Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland,” she reads the title out loud, “From egg to Inferno. A Dragon Keeper’s Guide.”

“Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him,” Harry remarks. Though the fact he was talking was more important to Ron than what he had remarked.

Meissa glances up from the tome to find that Ron was now really angry, his face such a vivid shade of red that she was surprised he hadn’t burst something. “What has him all twisted up?” she asks.

“I think he wants his voice back,” Daphne remarks.

“Oh… um,” Meissa twirls her hair around her finger before she concedes and points her wand at him, “Finite Incantatem.”

“It’s about bloody time!” Ron burst out loudly though he did shut his mouth when Meissa raised her wand again. “Anyway, it’s against our laws,” he starts to inform Harry and Hermione. “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709. Everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone,” Meissa cuts in with a sharp glare at the redhead, “Those raised in the muggle world wouldn’t know such a thing off the bat.”

“Well, yeah, but everyone else does,” Ron stutters awkwardly.

“True,” Daphne interrupts before the two could start bickering. “In any case it would not be ideal to raise dragons - as unobservant muggles can be they would notice a large fire-breathing dragon in a wizard’s backyard.”

Meissa nods her head in agreement before adding, “There’s no known methods to tame a dragon so it’s incredibly dangerous not only for the person attempting to tame them but also anyone in the immediate vicinity.”

“Yeah, you should see the burns Charlie’s got off wild ones in Romania.”

“But there aren’t wild dragons in Britain?” Harry asks.

“There are,” Meissa corrects.

“They’re the Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks,” Ron injects, getting an eye roll from the Black heiress before she picks up the tome and decided to let Ron continue the conversation.

After Ron had explained that there have been occasional sightings among the muggles and that the Ministry of Magic had the thankless job of wiping the memories from the witnesses, Meissa tuned back into the conversation to overhear Hermione wondering what Hagrid was up to.

~MJB~

It was another hour before they were done with the homework they wanted to finish and by that point they decided they’d use the time left to visit Hagrid before supper.

Daphne decided that she rather go back to the Slytherin common room and read a bit before supper and Meissa was tempted to go along with her - if it wasn’t for the fact that one of them needed to stay on the topic of the Philosopher’s stone. Meissa didn’t doubt that Hermione would keep them up to date but she wanted first hand information so that she could think things over. As good as Hermione’s memories are no one’s memories were so good that they could recall a conversation word for word to share with another.

And so, Meissa accompanied the Gryffindors to the gamekeeper’s hut. Since the start of the year this was only the second time she had been to his hut so she did not notice anything amiss. It was only when Hermione grasped her friend by the elbow that she realized that something was up.

“What is it?” she asks, tilting her head at the other girl.

“He has the curtains drawn shut.” Meissa frowns at the hut, worrying now that she knows about this particularly detail. Harry and Ron had been walking ahead of them so they were the first to reach the door and knocked on it to alert Hagrid of their presence.

So by the time Meissa and Hermione had joined them Hagrid had opened the door to let them in. When she stepped into the hut she felt a blast of hot air hit her face, the heat searing the breath from her.

“Merlin’s pants-” Meissa swore under her breath, grimacing at the influx of hot air. She couldn’t understand why there was a blazing fire in the fire pit when it’s already a warm day. She ended up shrugging off her robes, tugging uncomfortably on her shirt, while Hagrid made them tea and offered sandwiches.

Meissa nearly accepted, her stomach reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, when she saw what went into them. After that her stomach was revolting at the thought of even taking a bite.

“So,” Hagrid starts, settling in one of the chairs while the Gryffindors claimed the other chairs. With only four chairs in the hunt Meissa opted for standing, choosing to be within arm’s reach of both Harry and Hermione. “Yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”

“Yes,” Harry set his cup on the table, “we were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s stone apart from Fluffy.”

Hagrid frowned at them - though Meissa had to wonder why he would ask. Unless he thought that Hagrid could confirm the information for them? “O’ course I can’t,” the giant shook his head. “Number one, I don’t know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’t tell yeh if I could. That stone’s here fer a good reason.”

“But Hagrid, surely you see that having a stone here would bring danger to the school,” Hermione tries to plead with him though Meissa was quick to bring a hand to the girl’s shoulder, squeezing a fraction to warn her. Meissa saw no good in having their suspicions aired - especially with someone who might be a close confidante of the headmaster, the center of her suspicions.

“Nonsense! Hogwarts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe,” the groundskeeper dismisses. “It was almost stolen outta Gringotts, as yeh probably already know.”

“That’s the thing Hagrid,” Harry injects, “if Gringotts is supposed to be safe then how was it broken into?”

“I- well - the Daily Prophet might’ve been right ‘bout somethin’s,” was all he had to say on the subject. “In any case I can’t tell yeh nothing. Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.”

Meissa couldn’t help the slight disbelieving look on her face - there was literally only one way they would’ve discovered the existence of the Cerberus inside Hogwarts. She was seriously considering him as one of those ‘fire’s lit but the cauldron’s empty’ sort of folks. 

“Oh come on, Hagrid,” Hermione starts, her voice warm and prompted Meissa to glance at her in curiosity, “you might not want to tell us, but you do know. You know everything that goes on round here.” Meissa was sure her eyebrows were reaching for her hairline at the flattering tone. But when she saw Hagrid’s beard twitch in a sure indication of a smile she realized what she was trying to do and stepped back, her cup of tea in hand to hide her smirking lips. “We only wondered who had done the guarding, really. We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.”

Meissa nearly burst into laughter when she saw Hagrid’s chest swell in pride at her last bit of words. Though she did sober up quickly when she realized something - was he so love starved that mere praises is enough to make him earn more?

“Well… I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let’s see... he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o’ the teachers did enchantments... Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick… Professor McGonagall -” he ticked them off on his fingers as he recalled them. “Professor Quirrell. O’ an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course.” Meissa nodded to herself before she frowns, realizing that that was only six. Was she off on her theory?

“Hang on,” Hagrid mutters, his brows furrowing as he peered at his fingers, “I’ve forgotten someone.” He mutters to himself for a moment before he practically snaps his fingers, “Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

Seven lines of defenses. And each of them exactly the person she had theorized to be involved.

But it didn’t relieve her as it should’ve. Because she still didn’t know who would be interested in grabbing the stone.

“Snape?” Ron practically gasped. Either missing or completely ignoring the sharp glare from Meissa.

“Yeah. Yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh?” Hagrid shakes his head, “Look, Snape helped protect the stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”

“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you Hagrid?” Harry asks anxiously. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the professors?”

Meissa crosses her arms, thinking - just about anyone could get the information about how to bypass Cerberus from Hagrid if they really made an effort. It wouldn’t have to be a professor - except she saw no other recourse. Hogwarts is a secured school and she doubted that anyone could get into the school to make an attempt to steal the stone - especially since its’ presence is supposed to be secret. As much as she doubted Hagrid’s ability to keep a secret she had doubts he would blab the presence of the stone to just about anyone, he did seem to have some common sense.

“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” Hagrid answers, straightening his overcoat proudly.

“Well, that’s something,” she hears Harry mutter softly to the others.

“Hagrid, can we have a window open?” Ron pipes up, “I’m boiling.”

“Can’t, sorry,” Hagrid apologizes. Meissa notices the giant glancing at the fire and for the first time she really studies the fire, realizing that there was a kettle. It was what’s in the fires itself that really caught her attention.

It was a fairly large black egg about maybe a foot long and likely growing. The realization of what the egg is sinks in quickly and she’s left staring at it in disbelief.

“Hagrid…” Harry mutters, “what’s that?”

“Ah,” Hagrid starts to fiddle with his beard, “That’s er…”

“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” Ron crouches over the fire to get a closer look at the egg, “It must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” Hagrid answers. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

Wait…Hagrid gets a dragon egg after wishing for one…

Meissa narrows her eyes at this bit of information, setting the cup back onto the table with a thoughtful look on her face.

“But what are  you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” Hermione asks worriedly, glancing at Meissa in concern - especially at the wooden structure of the cottage.

Hagrid pulls out a fairly large book from under his pillow and Meissa catches the title - Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. She barely heard him ramble on and on about what he learned from the book as she peers at the egg. It’s dark smooth surface glinting in the dancing fire light - she wanted to reach out and brush her fingers against it but forced herself to stand before she did something stupid.

“This isn’t going to end well,” she mutters to Hermione who nods in agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations & Notes:
> 
> (1) **Silencio** \- silencing charm


	17. Keep Calm and - Never mind

Meissa left the group shortly after they entered the Great Hall, joining Daphne at the Slytherin table and accepting the migraine potion she had so thoughtfully brought with her. “Oh, beautiful, you are just after my own heart,” she declares before she gulps down about half of the potion and recap it - she didn’t fancy meeting her godfather’s ire for finishing off a month’s supply before the month was even over with.

“I have no idea if you were saying that to me or the potion,” the blonde retorts, though the slight tug of a smile on her face indicated she knew just who or what was being referenced.

“Greengrass,” Meissa rolls her eyes at the other girl. Then she decides to switch tracks and conversation. “So what did you do while I accompanied the lions to the cave of the keeper.”

Daphne arches an eyebrow at her friend. “Did you inhale something while you were there?” she asks suspiciously.

“No! I’m offended you even asked,” Meissa crosses her arms with a huff.

“Well, I’m sorry but you are acting rather lighthearted.”

It was the truth in a odd roundabout way - Daphne couldn’t remember a time she saw the girl so carefree except for when she was flying. She thinks that potions can distract the other girl but Daphne thought that she was scheming too much while she brew the potions to truly be carefree. She actually couldn’t remember a time when the girl smiled just because she was happy and not because someone else needed a smile. And she means a genuinely happy smile and not some twisted version of it that Meissa smiles when no one is looking.

“Well, sorry,” Meissa grouses though the corner of her lips did turn up ever so slightly. “Anyway, answer my question.”

Daphne looks at her confused before she recalls what her friend had asked -  the same question that had prompted her to ask if she had inhaled something. “I was reading about the days of Camelot.”

Meissa arches an eyebrow at the other girl. “You mean with Merlin, Morgan le Fay, and everyone else involved?”

“Yes - the book I have seems to cover King Arthur’s lifetime.”

“Wasn’t he muggle though?” Meissa was a bit surprised that a book about a muggle king could be found in Hogwarts.

“But he was involved in the biggest Light vs. Dark battle.”

“Well, that is true…” Meissa shrugs her shoulders, thinking that he was still a muggle. Though - she spears a few slices of meat and added it to her plate - she suspects Hermione would be angry at her for dismissing King Arthur just because he was muggle. “So what did you like so far in the book?”

“Well… if I was reading this right, King Arthur was the son of Morgan’s-”

“Wait, what?” Horrified by what the blonde had just said she ended up cutting her off.

“Don’t interrupt,” Daphne smacks her friend’s shoulder for it, getting a sheepish look from the raven haired girl. “As I was saying,” she gives Meissa a mock glare, “King Arthur was the son of Morgan’s mother.”

Meissa blinks, the information registering slowly before it sunk in completely and she found herself staring at the blonde. “Really? So what, he was a squib?”

“Or a half-blood.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “What about Morgan?”

“I haven’t really read much about her. Or who the father was. But everyone believes she’s a pureblood so there’s that.”

“All of this happened centuries ago - I don’t even know if pureblood was even around at that time period,” Meissa remarks drily, getting odd looks not only from her friend but also from everyone who overheard her comment.

“It had to come from somewhere.”

Meissa points her fork at her friend. “By the logic of every aristocrat it would be assumed that the gods created two separate races - the muggles and the wizards. Yet how do you explain the fact that there are those among the muggles that produce children capable of magic?”

Daphne brushes her friend’s hand away from her, silently encouraging her to go back to eating while thinking about the question she had brought up. She wasn’t sure what the answer would be but doubts that Meissa would leave the issue alone now that she brought it up.

“Do you happen to know if either of them had any children?” Meissa asks after she finished the last bit on her plate. The question first threw Daphne until she remembered their conversation before it went wayward.

“Um…” Daphne thinks about it, recalling the author’s rough estimate of the king’s family tree. “I think Arthur Pentdragon had a son with Morgause.”

Meissa was in the process of reaching for her goblet when Daphne said this so this bit of information caused her to pause. “Who?”

“Morgause - Morgan Le Fay’s older sister.”

Meissa frowns to herself, thinking to herself that the name was actually familiar though she couldn’t actually remember why. “Just how many siblings did the king have?”

“Just the two… oh and I think they had a sister.”

“So Arthur Pentdragon and two half-sisters with a possible third - and one of them is renowned for being in a Light vs. Dark battle against the ‘great and powerful’ Merlin?” Daphne pokes at her friend for the mocking tone in her voice. “What~?”

“We need to work on your sarcasm,” Daphne remarks drily. Meissa rolls her eyes at the other girl.

“So,” Meissa starts as she turns partially in her seat, “Did Morgan Le Fay have any children?”

“I believe she only had one child, a son named…” Daphne trails off as she tries to recall the name.

“Yvain,” Meissa mutters distantly.

“Yeah - how did you know? I mean, I thought you didn’t know the story of Camelot.”

“I don’t - at least not the story regarding Arthur Pentdragon,” the Black heiress turns her gaze to the wall, her mind distant and distracted by vague memories of her childhood. 

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

Daphne frowns worriedly at her friend. “Are you… okay?”

“As okay as one can be.”

Daphne stayed quiet after that - what does one say to that anyway?

~MJB~

The dungeon was as drafty as usual, filled with the usual sounds and smells of the potion class. Meissa was quietly slicing and dicing the ingredients for the potion they have to make - focusing on her potion instead of what was happening around her.

She barely registered Professor Snape stalking around the room, menacing the Gryffindors as he had all year, though she did catch sight of him snapping something to Harry. She could only guess that the bespectacled boy had fumbled something.

But when she glances away from the wideye potion they were focusing on she notices that the texture and coloring of the potion was proper for the stage he appears to be at. A little behind in comparison to most people but still, the potion looked like it’s progressing nicely - she suspects that nothing would give Harry the aptitude for potion brewing but she had to give him points for efforts.

Wondering why Harry was getting grief from Professor Snape, Meissa nearly forgot about her potion - a feat that would’ve surprised her Head of House had he been paying attention to her. As it was, Professor Snape was terrorizing the Gryffindors and just as Meissa was adding the one last ingredient to the potion there was an explosion.

Startled she instinctively jumps away from the sound, her eyes searching the room quickly to find the cauldron responsible.

“LONGBOTTOM!” the professor bellows - though why did it seem like he was talking through thick cottons?

Well, that answers the question as to who was responsible for the latest explosion.

“Daphne, are you okay?” Meissa calls out for her friend in the midst of the chatter, trying to ignore the ringing in her ears. She couldn’t see the blonde - well, the blonde she was looking for anyway. Draco was standing over by his friends with a proud smirk on his face - suspicion tugging vaguely at her as she eyes the vengeful boy.

She starts again when she feels a hand touch her back, calming when she sees that it was Daphne. Her hair was just a bit tussled - no doubt from trying to dodge the potion explosion - but she looked fine to Meissa’s relief.

“What happened?” Daphne asks. But Meissa barely heard her, the ringing in her ears still intense. The brunette’s eyes searching for Hermione and the boys. Harry looked like he had some of Longbottom’s failed potion on him but - as Meissa looked him over with her eyes - showed no visible signs of a reaction of any kind.

Daphne frowns at the lack of response and nudges her friend again - startling the girl and getting a flinch from her. “Sorry, but didn’t you hear me?”

“What?”

They look at each other in confusion before Daphne saw the blood dripping from Meissa’s ears. “Meissa!” she shouts, grabbing the other girl by the shoulders, startling her once again before she gets a sharp look for the constant frights. But she ignored it all in favor of touching her fingers to the blood and brought them around to show Meissa.

“Oh… That isn’t good.”

“No shit,” Daphne grouses before she waves the professor over. They needed to fix Meissa’s hearing before she lose them permanently.

A short time later found Meissa sitting on one of the chairs, her eyes narrowed in irritation. She was glowering at the wall opposite from her, the heat of her glare probably enough to melt a stone if it was possible.

She had been poked and prodded at for a full five minutes before her godfather had rushed - no, that’s not really accurate - stormed off to brew something that would fix any lingering symptoms from having her ears ruptured.

Though the ringing was gone from her ears she still couldn’t quite hear all that well - something she knows her godfather was going to try and fix with that potion of his. She also knows, just as she knows her own left hand, that when she leaves her godfather’s office she’ll find either Draco or Daphne out in the hall.

Draco never been one for admitting his weaknesses - even if he knows that she knows all of his tells - would probably be leaning against the wall with a patented sneer on his face. Daphne on the other hand was still a bit of a mystery to Meissa. On one hand she thinks the blonde would be like her cousin, except she knows that the blonde girl is more reactive in comparison to her cousin. So it was a tossup between Daphne being like her cousin or her pacing like a mad griffin. In either case she would bet a sickle that they would be out there doing their own little thing.

Still, she couldn’t believe that an exploding cauldron had taken out her hearing in one go - just her luck. “What caused Longbottom’s cauldron to explode,” she wonders out loud - not that she really heard the words leave her lips. She felt the vibrations in her chest sure, felt her lips move, but other than a low buzz in her ears she heard nothing.

Meissa started counting quietly in French, making it up to fifteen before she started to forget the words. With a frown to herself she repeats from zero, trying to remember the numbers past fifteen. Muttering repeatedly the numbers to herself before she gives up.

She got as far as eighteen before she gave up and just started naming off the ingredients she could see in the room. She was so bored that she would’ve considered casting random spells if it wasn’t for two separate things - one, casting spells in a potion lab was dangerous and more likely to cause something to explode and two, her godfather took her wand before he started brewing.

“Uncle Sevy, are you done yet?” she whines over to him, her arms crossed, terribly bored at this point.

She watches his mouth, not quite making out what he was saying before she had to admit to herself that she has no idea what he was saying. “Just hurry up please,” she pleads with her godfather.

It was another ten minutes before her godfather was able to finish a potion and bottle it for her to consume. The whiff she caught of it had her grimacing but the ‘no nonsense’ look she got from him prompted her to just pinch her nose and drink it as quickly as possible.

With a gag she forces herself to not hurl the potion up again, shuddering and wincing at the tingles when it settled into her stomach before the uncomfortable feeling in her ears came back thrice fold.

Wincing at the uncomfortable feeling she rubs at her ears, the pain climbing before releasing with a pop of her eardrums. With a relieved sigh she works her jaw, grateful that the building sensation is gone.

She hears a snapping noise near her ear and flinches away from it.

“Good, your hearing is back to normal,” Professor Snape observes with a pleased look on his face.

“Jeez, thanks Uncle Sevy,” Meissa grouses as she pushes her hair from her face. Still, he saw the grateful look on her face for the return of her hearing. “Well, I’ll~” she stops when something comes to mind. “Uncle Sevy...”

“Yes?”

“Um… Why do you have it out for Potter?”

He arches an eyebrow at her question, the look on his face carefully blank. A sure sign that there was something he did not want her to be aware of. For Meissa that meant he was embarrassed by the reason or ashamed.

“It is none of your concern,” he dismisses, prompting Meissa to frown at him. She didn’t like that her godfather had some kind of hidden agenda - but she did know she ultimately trusted him.

So she turned around and left the room, a smirk appearing on her face when she sees Daphne and Draco. Doing exactly what she thought they would do.

~MJB~

The week passed by rather quickly after the exploding cauldron incident - Neville Longbottom apologized so often in the days since that it left Meissa rather irritated with the boy, not because he nearly destroyed her hearing but because he couldn’t get the fact that she wasn’t angry at him for it. She couldn’t hate him - not when she knows that he has reasons to hate her for a far worse reason.

Still, he seemed like a fairly sweet boy - it just wasn’t his fault that Meissa had no patience for someone who apologizes more than necessary.

It also wasn’t his fault that she had gotten a letter from her Aunt Narcissa - Great-grandfather Pollux’s sister, Cassiopeia Black, had recently passed away at the age of 77. So young and now she had to consider what to do. Her will needed to be found and read, the funeral planned, and the wake - Meissa really didn’t want anything to do with the extravagant ball her aunt was likely to throw for her.

She already had to prepare a funeral for Arcturus Black when he passed away shortly after Halloween - she could only imagine he saw that day. She barely knew him too - just knew that he was Aunt Walburga’s father in law and great-grandfather Polly’s cousin. He really didn’t bother to be around - not in the four years she lived with her Aunt Walburga before her passing.

She had such a headache from the thought of having to deal with another funeral and having to seek permission from the Headmaster.

Still - the death of two relatives, no matter how they were related to her, made her worry. She knew that her family tended to die young and that no one ever reached their hundredth birthday. But there was a vague sensation - to her anyway - that there was something haunting them. There was so many things wrong with the family - listing them would take them too long and it was a pretty lengthy list - and with each passing year she sees something else that makes her feel sick to the stomach.

With a frustrated sigh she folds the letter from her aunt and slides it back into the envelope - she needed to find her godfather and tell him that there was yet another funeral for them to attend. Her mind doing a quick check before she comes to the realization that most if not all of the older generation was gone or not recorded in the family tree.

Her mother and cousin were in Azkaban. Her Aunt Narcissa is married into the Malfoy family and, in the law of the Black family, ineligible to take on the responsibilities of the Black estates. Draco, as the son of Lucius Malfoy, couldn’t take on the family responsibility either. Any of his children would belong to the Malfoy family.

It would be a different story if Draco was disowned by the Malfoy family but she didn’t see that happening any time soon.

There was literally no one to take on the responsibilities of the Black estates… unless…

Meissa frowns to herself, idly rubbing her ears when a low ringing took residence in them again.

It was a thought worth thinking but she’d have to shelf it for now - she couldn’t afford to spend much thought on it, not until her great-aunt was buried and her affairs were settled. The earliest she could probably focus on it is probably mid to late June. 

She winces to herself - two months at the earliest.

“Meissa,” she hears someone call, her name registering just past the ringing in her ears. She looks around and found Daphne hurrying after her. “Where were you at breakfast?”

“I was outside, in the courtyard,” she answers, reaching back to braid her hair.

Daphne eyes her friend worriedly - it’s been some time since the Black heiress had skipped a meal and she couldn’t help but worrying. “Hermione asked me to pass along a message,” the blonde finally says, handing over a scrap parchment.

She opens it to find a simple phrase - Morning break, Hagrid.

“What do you think it means?” Daphne asks quietly, perhaps sensing that this issue was something to be mum about.

“Hagrid’s got something,” Meissa mutters to her friend, “Do you want to come with me this time?”

“… Is Weasley going to be a prat again?”

“Most likely.”

“Can I be a prat back?”

“If you like,” Meissa smirks at her friend, getting a smirk in return.

“Then, yes, I would like to accompany you to Hagrid’s.”

With a soft snort of amusement Meissa shakes her head at her friend before they headed for Herbology. It was Meissa’s least favorite class that was absolutely necessary to even consider becoming an auror or even a magizoologist. (1)

The class passed relatively quickly with a few of the students barely escaping the plant’s strangling tendrils - Meissa had barked out a sun related version of the Lumos spell to force it to retreat from the other students. She wanted to use fire but remembered - barely - that Professor Sprouts did not want them using any fire spells to damage the plant.

After the bell had sounded from the castle to end their lessons they were gone from the greenhouse, Meissa just barely casting a cleaning spell over her work station, before she chased after the trio to Hagrid’s place.

“What’s the big hurry?” Daphne breathed, jogging to try and keep up with Meissa’s long loping run.

“You’ll see,” is all Meissa said before they caught up with the trio. Hagrid glancing at the Slytherins, his face flushed and excited.

“It’s nearly out,” he tells them as they were ushered into the cottage.

“Wha-?” Daphne starts to say before her words cut off, her eyes widening in shock as she realized what she was seeing.

Meissa smiles at the sight of the egg lying on the table. The smooth surface marred by deep cracks as its’ sole occupant rocked the shell of the egg.

“That- that’s a dragon egg!” Daphne squawks as everyone drew up chairs and watched the egg with bated breath.

Meissa nodded absent mindedly, “A Norwegian Ridgeback.”

“Aren’t they extremely rare?” Daphne whispers as she crowded Meissa, afraid to be any closer to a hatching dragon egg.

“Very.”

Meissa didn’t pay them any attention, intent on the low clicking noise from within the egg. This time she didn’t stop herself from reaching a hand out to brush against the surface of the egg - Hermione’s voice sharp as she practically shrieks her protests.

She felt a warm sensation as she glides her fingers over the surface of the egg - a curious feeling emerging from the back of her mind. Amazed and curious by what’s happening she starts to trace the cracks in the egg until a large hand clamps onto her wrist and pulled her away from the egg, breaking that tentative bond.

Anguished by the sudden break Meissa snarls various curses at the giant, her words bitter and angry. Her eyes stormy as she drew to her full height, as unimpressive it was in comparison to Hagrid’s, as she reached for her wand - trying almost in vain to keep her hands from shaking.

But a long scraping noise startled the group from the impending fight and they turn to witness the egg splitting open. The dragonling flopping onto the table with a low squeal that captivated both Hagrid and Meissa’s hearts.

Meissa was instantly beholden with the dragonling, the little one about the same of the egg it had just hatched out of. It’s leathery hide as black as jet, its’ wings twice the size of its skinny body with a long snout. With its wide nostrils, glowing orange eyes, and thin wiry tail Meissa thought it was perfect.

She reaches for the shell that was stuck to the dragonling’s triangle shaped head but Hagrid got to it first. His fingertips barely touching the dragonling before it snapped at him, revealing pointed fangs despite its recent birth into the world.

“Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!” Hagrid seemed to gush as the dragonling sneezed, sparks flying out of its snout.

“How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?” Hermione asks worriedly.

Meissa was busy watching the dragonling stretch out its’ limbs, little squeals escaping the dragonling’s chest. She felt the warm presence of Daphne behind her, the blonde’s hands on her shoulders as she leaned against her for a better view of the dragonling. The sensation not altogether unpleasant but it still caused little tremors to shake through her.

The distress of being touched was overwhelmed by the fact that there was a beautiful hatchling in front of her - but in the light of Hermione’s question she had to wonder, how long could Hagrid hide the presence of a growing dragon before it’s discovered and he’s imprisoned for illegal breeding?

The question and its inevitable pondering got disrupted when Hagrid leapt to his feet and ran to the window, jostling the Slytherins from their seats. The action brought Meissa within contact with the little hatchling. The dragonling hissed at her, prompting her to shift her hand off its’ wing with an apologetic whisper. The dragonling continued to hiss at her before it settled, shuffling its wings until they were pressed against its’ sides. The irritation in the dragonling faded away, leaving only an odd sense of…

Meissa couldn’t identify the odd sensation and before she could she heard Hagrid say something. Tuning in at the end she hears him say, “It’s a kid - he’s runnin’ back up ter the school.”

She looks up in time to see Harry bolt to the door and look out.

“Who was it?”

“… Malfoy.”

“Him again?” Daphne groans before she looks to her friend, “No offense to you but your cousin is a prat.”

“No offense taken,” Meissa reassures as she crosses her arms. “If he seen the dragonling then we need move it to some place safe. The reserves probably would be best for the dragonling.”

“What - no!” Hagrid protests, “He belongs with me!”

Meissa sighs as she turns to look at the dragonling, the glowing orange eyes seemingly intent on her. She could hear the Gryffindors try to talk sense into Hagrid. Daphne was quiet, standing shoulder to shoulder with her.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“What do you think Draco is going to do?”

Meissa could only shrug her shoulders. She wasn’t sure, really, but if she had to hazard a guess he would wait until he had something that would bust not only Hagrid but the Gryffindors too. It didn’t escape her attention that Daphne and herself would be in trouble as well for being present for the hatching and for the knowledge of the egg.

On most days she wouldn’t care what her cousin was up to but she knew that he had something against Ron Weasley - family feud be damned - and he wouldn’t stop to get the redhead and Harry suspended or expelled. And whatever he’s likely to have in mind it’d probably be in direct violation of her deal with Harry.

“Whatever he’s planning on,” Harry spoke up, “We need to be careful from now on.”

“We always need to be careful,” Meissa remarks distantly, her eyes intent on the dragonling. “Even in moments of peace.”

Hermione frowns worriedly at her friend - when she says things like that there was a certain chill that raced down her spine. It was like a stark reminder that her friend had some kind of experience that embittered her to the world.

“I think we should head back to Hogwarts, see if we can keep an eye on Malfoy,” Harry injects before Hermione could say something to her friend.

“I’ll sock him if he does,” Ron grumbles before he seemed to remember that he was in the presence of Draco’s cousin. Prompting Meissa to straighten her back, meeting Ron’s eyes with a dark twinkle in her eyes. “What - you can’t tell me you don’t ever want to sock your cousin!” he protests before she could say a thing.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Meissa answers vaguely, though she kept her dark gaze on him. “But don’t expect me to sit round idly when you go after my cousin.” With that she shoots one last look at the dragonling before pushing past everyone to leave the cottage.

There was nothing they could do at the moment, not with Hagrid reluctant to part with the dragonling.

Best thing to do for now is to try and find a dragon handler in the event they could convince Hagrid to part with the dragonling before it’s too late.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations & Notes:
> 
> (1) **Magizoologist** \- studies magical creatures


	18. Walpurgis Night of Insanity

Meissa wanted to help the trio try and convince Hagrid that he needed to part with the dragonling but April 30th was soon upon them, and with it Walpurgis Night, and she needed - no, she wanted - to focus on it. The magic of the dead had been building in the days leading up to it and she could scarcely breathe in the gradual build.

Hermione was probably the only one among those undecided and Light wizards that even noticed - or at least the only ones among those she associates with. Hermione couldn’t feel it, not yet, but for Meissa there was a crawling sensation all across her body like someone was lightly caressing her.

The sensation unnerves her - has always unnerved her - but she knew she couldn’t rebel against it.

“What’s wrong,” Hermione asks the day before Walpurgis and when the sensation was nearly at its’ worse. They had been sitting by the lakeside for nearly ten minutes and already the Black heiress was fidgeting as if her trousers were on fire. “You’ve been jittery the last four days!”

“Sorry,” Meissa mutters, her left hand flexing repeatedly - trying to expel the heavy sensation of what surely felt like ants in her skin. “It’s - Well, it’s a bit complicated to explain,” she comments, finally deciding to distract herself by braiding her hair.

“Start with the basics?”

Meissa didn’t know how to start with the basics. But for Hermione she could try, it was the only thing she could really do. “Well… Halloween is the time when the spirits of the dead are more likely to be seen by the living,” she starts softly, forcing Hermione to lean in to better understand her. “But on Walpurgis night… the magic of the dead return to us, drawing in everyone who are sensitive with the wild magic.”

Hermione made to say something but Meissa shook her head to tell her that she wanted to finish before any questions were asked.

“Walpurgis night is sacred among the Dark Wizards and Witches. The Light Wizards and Witches, they don’t celebrate Walpurgis like we do because they believe that Dark magic is evil.” Meissa turns her attention away from Hermione as she delves into old memories of books that spoke of distinctions between Light and Dark magic. “Magic that hurts people or is cast in a manner that only deserves to prolong their pain are considered Dark. Light magic is considered to be free will and tame in comparison to Dark Magic.”

Meissa was still not looking at Hermione at this point, her memories far from her as she focused on her wand, tracing the patterns on the hilt. The design always reminded her of the skeletal hand of a person and every time she held the wand she always found her fingers overlapping the design perfectly.

“Magic, in my own opinion, depends on your will. If you intend to hurt someone then that is exactly what you will do. I hardly bother with labels because it just complicate matters.” She finally turns her gaze onto Hermione, surprising the Gryffindor with the intensity of it. “There is no right or wrong when it comes to magic… Tell me, if you knew a person was suffering and the only way you could relieve them of the pain was to let them die would you cast the Killing Curse?”

Hermione had an horrified look on her face from the question but while Meissa had an intense expression she didn’t sense a need to hurry her answer. But she still didn’t know, truthfully, what she would do. “Couldn’t I save them?” she asks softly, drawing a small smile from her friend as well as a firm headshake.

It was clear to Hermione that Meissa was trying to impart a lesson and as much as she dreads the thought she knew that Meissa wouldn’t force her to think up something so cold unless she had her reasons. 

“If… if the only thing that could spare them pain… and if they truly wished to die… then I… against my better judgment…” Hermione shudders briefly before Meissa touches her shoulder. The contact so soft and brief it was barely felt but just the fact the Black heiress was willing to initiate however brief touch reassured her.

“I don’t mean to distress you,” Meissa mutters quietly. “But you understand that the Killing Curse is one of the Unforgivables. Yet can it truly be unforgivable if the spell is used to end the pain a person is suffering through and could not be relieved in any other manner?”

“Meissa… I see what you mean about magic… but I pray that we never have to face that kind of situation. I don’t think my consciousness could take it and survive.” Hermione, if she had to admit, was terrified of the thought of having to do something remotely similar to what Meissa had described. And she didn’t have to admit it - she said it all in her voice.

“I pray you never have to take a life, ‘Mione,” Meissa smiles warily. “Regardless of what happens I hope you understand what I meant about magic. Magic, for me, falls in a gray area much like most people.” 

Hermione nods once in agreement - if there was one thing she had to glean from her time in Hogwarts so far, magic had no logic and no morals. It all depended on the castor and with what Meissa had put in perspective she could see that the labels were wrong - or rather they were misleading.

“So… Walpurgis,” she starts, unsure if the conversation was done or if they had gotten off track.

“Mm?” Meissa turns to look at Hermione before she remembers what they were originally talking about. “Ah, right. Walpurgis is our way to celebrate magic in its’ purest sense - wild and free,” an excited lilt appears in her voice,  “It’s dangerous to try and grab the magic and use it. You’re supposed to feel it - embrace the memories it carries deep within. Have you ever wondered what the world has to say about the past? About the purest happiest moments it ever experienced?” Meissa smiles at her before a dark look appears on her face. “Or the most horrific moments… There is no good or bad - it just is.”

“It sounds…” Hermione pauses as she tries to find a word to describe what the Slytherin was telling her. It sounded exciting and terrifying - just about everything all at once and she couldn’t even begin to feel what her friend must surely be feeling.

Meissa waited patiently for Hermione, understanding in a way that she needed to find a way to describe it in her own words. Yet ultimately aware that Hermione would never be able to unless she experienced it herself. It was only due the fact that she belonged to the Black family first and foremost that she had even experienced Walpurgis - her great-grandfather insisting that she experience it and it was only due to his insistence that her godfather even allowed her to attend the celebrations.

When it became clear to both of them that Hermione could not produce a word to describe what she was trying to convoy Meissa decided that it was best to move on with the conversation.

“Hermione, I have no doubt that you’re curious and perhaps even a bit scared,” she eyes her friend and saw the answers in the other girl’s face, “but the celebration is… cannot be experienced unless…” She pauses as she struggles to find the right phrasing. “I do not want to say that you must declare yourself as a Dark Witch in order to experience it but in truth, the only way you can even go to the location is if your magical signature has Dark magic within.”

“But-”

“No buts, ‘Mione.” Meissa shifted around so that they were better able to see each other. “Walpurgis is a tradition honored solely by the Dark wizards - there has not been a single incident of a Light wizard attending the celebration. And I don’t want you declaring for the Dark just for the opportunity to experience it.” She hesitates for a second before she takes the other girl’s hand. “Declaring is… it’s a big thing in the Wizarding world. Neutral magic is grand and all but there’s a sense of power, a boost almost, for declaring for a side. The magic… it’s alive and once you’ve declared you’re no longer just a witch, you’re obligated to adhere to the fundamental aspects of the magic.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about magic, isn’t there…”

“Part of it isn’t your fault, Hermione. You didn’t grow up in this world and I don’t think you asked for it,” she eyes the Gryffindor, wondering. “The best I can do, we can do, is just prepare you for it.”

“How do you suggest that?”

“There are books on customs and laws. Reading them could give you a better idea on the state of my world. Maybe you, as a muggleborn, might see something to improve on?”

Hermione immediately saw the potential in what was suggested to her. It wasn’t until later that she realized that her friend had effectively distracted her from the thoughts of Walpurgis.

~MJB~

 It was just after dinner and the Meissa was just about vibrating in her seat - the Black glare fixed on her face whenever another Slytherin tries to glare her into stillness. Daphne was nearby, cloaks in hand, without the same issue her friend seemed to be suffering from.

On one hand it was amusing to see the other girl unable to hold back her excitement. On the other hand it was a bit worrying that she was constantly fidgeting. And yes, she’s aware of the contradiction in her thoughts - it was a fairly normal thing now with her friend around.

In the few times she had truly seen Meissa angry she had seemed like an entirely different person. Her words clipped and acidic and the magic from her tended to make her feel like she was being overexposed by sunlight. Normally Meissa’s magic felt like a warm fall day with the scent of crisp apples. But when she was angry, angrier than she had been with Ron, it changes to the feel of a raging forest fire with the thick clotting scent of ashes.

Right now though, her magic seemed fairly normal - though there was a hint of… Daphne could only allude it to spring.

While Daphne was thinking about Meissa’s magic the girl in question was trying various methods her godfather had taught her to try and lessen the impact of the magic on her. All in all, it promised to be an interesting night.

By the time the clock struck nine everyone in the Slytherin common room was impatient - they were supposed to have been gone at this point yet not one had come forward with the way to leave Hogwarts.

Scarcely seconds after this thought passed through their minds in some way or form a small stone appeared before Daphne. Startling the girl before she instinctively reaches out to catch it.

Meissa turns to her friend, the hair on the back of her neck raising as she stares at the smooth black stone. The surface had a polished appearance but as she leans in she saw that there was actually some kind of design on it.

She compared it to a memory of a Walpurgis celebration long ago and realized it was different. Daphne’s stone had the appearance of a carefully cut diamond yet had what seemed to be an never ending depth that called to her.

There was a low murmur among the Slytherins - some shocked, some angry, some just excited to finally go.

Meissa whispered something, dark eyes wide as she meets Daphne’s confused and hesitant ones. “Go,” she whispers, a near excited bounce in her movements now that everyone was standing - cloaks secured.

Daphne had been to Walpurgis celebrations all her life but never had she the honor…

With a glance to her friend she steels herself before she waves a hand over the stone, feeding her magic and prompting silver veins to appear over it as if suddenly frosted. The magic prompting it to change and begun to spin in her hand, the magic pulsing much like a heartbeat.

Faster and faster the stone spun and she threw it up high, the stone stopping high above their heads and spun even faster.

Meissa stood deadly still, her body an odd contraction of tensed and relaxed - magic rising obediently to the surface, reaching for the stone. The magic, normally invisible, could be seen by all and like always Meissa watched with transfixed eyes as her magic twirls with the colors of white and black. She could never understand the contradictions of her magic and while many had theories about her magic she knew what many thought.

It was a mystery to all that have seen her magic.

The stone was much like a black moon at this point and every one’s magic reached for it, the silver veins reaching out, tangling with them. Meissa shudders at the deepest sense of Wild magic, glancing over to Daphne with wide dark eyes - a grin worthy of her mother on her face.

Instead of being focused on the stone like the others the two girls were looking at each other - the slightest bump when they arrived the only thing that severed the connection between them.

Catching Daphne when she stumbles Meissa looks around, eying their surroundings, and was decently surprised to find that they were in a forest of some kind. Like before there was a large bonfire blazing in the even larger clearing. The fire was unusual/unnatural - bathing the clearing with an eerie silver color while the flames were forever changing. One second green, another frost or a pale gray. But always changing, a true embodiment of the wild magic that was in the heart of tonight’s celebration.

“Why was I chosen?” Daphne whispers softly - the only reason why she was heard at all was because she was still clinging to Meissa.

“Does it matter?” Meissa smiles broadly at the other girl, “We’re here. That’s all that counts.”

Daphne shakes her head at the eager Black heiress, perhaps realizing that there was just no way she’d be able to hold a serious conversation with her until after the magic releases its hold on her.

“C’mon!” Meissa grins at the blonde, grabbing her wrist before yanking her along to claim the best seats in the ‘house’. As if her words had prompted everyone into action there was a race to the bonfire. With a breathless laugh they hurl themselves to the ground before the bonfire and without warning Meissa thrust their joined hands into the flames, the flames licking their hands. The fire warm as the breath of a dragon or as cold as fresh snow.

They bow their heads together, laughing and giggling as if they have some great secret to share. Meissa’s eyes as wild as the magic around them and her laughter tinged with hysteria and bordering the cackles Daphne dreads.

They look up only when they hear one of the Slytherins shout excitedly, seeing the approach of their families. Daphne quickly sees her mother and sister, running off to meet with them and leaving Meissa to stare into the flames.

But she didn’t miss the approach of another Slytherin, his footsteps neither loud or subtle.

“What do you want, Zabini,” she calls over her shoulder, not even bothering to turn and face him.

“It has been some time since your last visit that I thought it would be worth the time to introduce you to my mother, Arianna Zabini.”

Meissa twist around to find a tall woman standing next to Blaise Zabini. Her skin - from what she could see - was smooth and darker than her son’s, her dark eyes large. Her dark hair coiled in so many intricate braids around her head that it wasn’t readily apparent how long it was. Realizing that she was at a disadvantage sitting she stood to face the other woman on equal footing. She had not spent much time with the other Slytherins but she knew some things about each of their families - just enough to get her out of trouble if worse comes to worse.

The Zabini family was a bit of an unknown for her but she did however know that Blaise’s mother was considered to be a Black Widow by certain circles in the Wizarding community.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she bows just enough to show respect but nothing more.

“Ms. Black,” she returns, offering a hand to Meissa - barely allowing her to register the fact that there was a musical quality to her voice. “My son has told me much about you.”

She arches an eyebrow at the pair as she took her hand, dark eyes warily taking them in. “Good evening, Mrs. Zabini. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

An amused look appears on the woman’s face as Meissa took back her hand, ignoring the tingle in her hand for the magic in the air. “I wish to offer my consolation,” she says, “I did not know your aunt personally but I’m sure the Wizarding World mourns for her death.”

“Thank you for your consolation,” Meissa dips her head ever so slightly. “I have to believe that my aunt is in a better place, with her brothers and sisters.”

“Perhaps you’ll be gifted with a vision of her magic,” the witch suggests, her eyes dancing in the low light provided by the bonfire.

It was a valid thought - a thought that chilled Meissa to her core. Being visited by an ancestor’s magic was a privilege not many could claim. It was certainly not something she wanted - past, present, or future. She counted herself lucky that she was not deemed worthy so far.

“It would be an honor if such a feat was to occur,” Meissa says, refusing to let her inner thoughts show. The look in the Dark Witch’s mind was clear to the young Slytherin - the Black Widow was very interested in what would happen and she had no doubt that if it was possible Arianna Zabini would arrange for it.

“Meissa!” she hears but refrained from turning towards the voice, a low hum in the back of her mind insisting - ‘don’t trust her!’ - that she doesn’t turn her back to the other woman.

“My apologies,” she inclines her head slightly towards the Dark Witch, “It would seem that my attention is being demanded elsewhere.”

Arianna dips her head slightly, a low twinkle of bells capturing Meissa’s attention briefly. “Of course. My apologies for holding you for so long.”

Meissa strengthens the mask over her expressions, “Perhaps you can sing us a song before the night’s over,” she suggests before walking away.

The tingling in her hand was getting annoying now - she couldn’t stop flexing her fingers in an effort of chasing the sensation away - but finding Daphne in this crowd as a priority right now.

She crossed the clearing to the other side before she found Daphne Greengrass and - her entire body tensed when she realizes that she was staring at a near likeness of her friend. An older version sure but the resemblance was strong between them.

She’s not sure how long she was staring at them but she’s sure that it must have been long enough for Daphne to turn around and realize that she was there.

“Meissa!” the blonde smiles as she grabs the Black heiress’ hands and pulled her closer to the older blonde. “Mum, this is my friend, Meissa Black. Meissa, this is my mother, Alona Greengrass.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Meissa bows a bit more formally than she had with Zabini’s mother, “to meet you, Lady Greengrass.”

“My, my,” Alona drawls, “A Black with manners.”

“Mum!” Daphne protests while Meissa tensed under the woman’s gaze.

Was this someone whom her mother offended? Or some relative of hers? Not for the first time Meissa cursed her large estranged family and its’ stupid tendency to pass down the insanity gene.

She doesn’t know how to react. She didn’t want to give the older woman reason to hate her and she didn’t want to lose Daphne - she never thought that she would come to a point where losing someone would be unbearable.

“Hush,” was the woman’s sharp remand towards her daughter, her eyes never leaving Meissa’s blazing ones. The Black heiress was quickly finding that she did not like Daphne’s mother - she reminded her too much of, no she just, no.

Her fingers twitched, the muscles jumping in her arms, but she bore the weight of Alona’s gaze. She wanted to defend herself or to even slam some sense or respect into the other woman - but there was a strange twisting inside her guts that told her that if she did anything of the like she was likely to lose her friendship with Daphne.

“Have you not a word in your own defense?” Alona questions, nearly pushing Meissa’s temper to the edge of its’ limits.

“It’s clear to me, Lady Greengrass, that you had plenty of time to forge your hatred for the Black family and formulate an opinion despite the fact we had never met,” Meissa remarks drily. Her stance loose but not at all ignorant of the fact that she was probably one word from danger. “If you will not put aside your disregard for my family then I see no point in attempting to defend myself.”

The look she got from Daphne’s mother was cold but she still held her gaze, refusing to coward away from the witch. Not only did her Black pride meant that she could not, would not, bow down but her personal feelings regarding the whole situation dictated that she stay strong.

“You are much like your mother,” Greengrass sneers, looking down her nose at Meissa.

She knew that it was meant to be an insult but Meissa shrugs her shoulders in the face of it, “Thank you. I thrive to be the best I can be.” Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Daphne’s worry clear on her face and she wanted to reassure that regardless of what happened this night she wasn’t going to stop being her friend.

Alona looked like she was about to spit something at her - spiteful words not actual spit - when the bonfire flared up, stopping all conversation and grabbed the attention of everyone in the clearing.

Standing in the shadow of the bonfire was a man - Meissa couldn’t name him but judging from the item in his hands she could safely say that he must have survived magic Darker than any among them. She turns fully away from the Greengrass family and watched the man bow his head to the small item in his hand, sparking alternately between green and silver.

“This is Walpurgis Night,” said the man, his head lifting and his voice clear as it cuts across the crowd of witches and wizards - silencing any chatter at once. “This is the night that magic returns, the night when the magic renews… The night when the Dark cries out in its power.” Meissa shivers at the words, the magic he spoke about rising in a feverish pitch. The magic creating an itch in her that made her tense and eager to get on with it.

“There is magic coming again,” Meissa could hear his voice becoming clearer. “There is power coming again and we stand on the edge of change.” Her breath catches in her throat, her mind thinking suddenly of the events happening in Hogwarts. There’s just no way this isn’t connected, it has to be connected. She was almost sure of this. “Magic bound will now be free!” the man cries suddenly, casting his hands up. Pitching the item in his hand high into the sky, dark eager eyes following it quickly as it burst and expanded. Changing into what each of them wanted to see - never the same for two or three or more.

Her breath catching as it changed quicker than she could comprehend. The shower of dust branding itself into her heart and mind.

The somber mood in the air broke into a frenzy and unheard music seizes them all into a pied piper dance. Meissa was swept up into the magic, moving and twisting, and laughing - oh she could scarcely breathe. A hand grabs her and when she whirls around, magic sparking in her, she’s stunned to find Daphne smiling - no, beaming - at her. Her heart jumps to her throat and she lets herself be pulled along deep into the action. Their feet moving quickly as they moved - their hands keeping them together as they danced opposite of many different people.

They were dancing opposite of Blaise once, his usual reserved demeanor gone as he danced. His eyes dark and glittering before - with a whirl - he was gone and Meissa’s mood almost darkened when she sees who’s dancing opposite of them now. Pansy gave them an angry sneer that prompted Meissa to growl a curse at her- her words not meant to be a curse but genuinely spiteful. Whether the girl heard her or not was a bit questionable since she was gone as fast as the words left Meissa’s lips.

The only time the girls’ hands separated was when they found themselves moving in a tight ring with Arianna Zabini moving gracefully - the music shifting and Meissa could barely breathe again as the music wrapped around her.

She turned away before her heart could stop and found herself alone, eyes wide as black silhouettes of beasts loped down the hills, the shadows cutting through the air as well as raising from the ground. She stood there watching as the mass glided towards her.

Doubling over when one particular one phases through her, the memory of some long forgotten time searing itself into her soul. Breathless she absorbs the memory - _I loved her she loved me so why is this the only way why do I have to kill them to get to her and why was she dead before I could hold her in my arms like a wife_ \- before she straightens her body.

She looks around her - the shadows of the Dark wizards and witches’ magic large and small danced among the gathered and she barely even moved when a large dragon that looked half rotted touched her shadow - _Stun them you have to stun them but why is it that every time I look into their eyes I feel this profound connection? There’s more to them than what meets the eye and I just can’t bring myself to stun them_ \- the connection breaks and she’s left gutted by the experience.

She felt as if her heart was just ripped out and felt a sense of familiarity with the memory despite the fact that she knew she had never encountered this rotted dragon. But before she could think much of it her shadow was struck by a twisted Basilisk shadow. She gasps out - _Fools the lot of them! I know this will work! I know it!_ \- as the world turned sideways - _NO! IT HAS TO WORK! IT CANNOT NOT WORK!_ \- while the memory of trying and yet failing to revive a loved one tore through her.

All around her witches and wizards each experienced the memories of those long since gone and she ignored them all as she stood at the edge of the clearing. The occasional shadows would find her and show her its’ memories before flouncing off to find another victim.

But the loss of the love one from the basilisk had struck a chord much like the memory of the dragon tamer and she found that she couldn’t bear the thought of mingling with the other wizards once the shadows were gone. On her knees she turned her face up towards the skies, closing her eyes as she reached deep inside herself and sorted the memories and the feelings invoked by them.

She doesn’t know how much time had passed, the only thing she was aware of was the tangle of memories and emotions inside her. Her mind hardly registering the tell tale signs of magic being woven into the music that has started up again - barely registering the story being told until she heard the crisp applauds and cheers from those gathered around the bonfire.

When she looks up she found Zabini’s mother curtsying and looking rather pleased with herself - it left Meissa wondering what she missed while trying to fix what was broken inside. Forcing herself to her feet she searches the ground for Daphne or her mother - though she really hopes she finds Daphne first.

Though, it was just her luck that she found Alona first and judging from the look on her face she was not happy to have been found by a Black. She also looked like she was crying so that was the only reason why Meissa found herself willingly approaching the woman.

Well, one of the two. The other one has something to do with the woman being Daphne’s mother and she couldn’t in good conscious leave the woman to her misery.

She also didn’t know how to comfort someone so she went with what she knew best.

“What did my mother do to you for you to project it onto her only child?” she asks bluntly and to the point.

“She lived,” was Alona’s retort but before she could say anything else Daphne found them and hooked her arm with Meissa’s. Prompting the other girl looks at her friend in confusion, seeing the stubborn set in the blonde’s jaw and wondered what she had seen to make her stand up to her own mother.

“Meissa,” Daphne starts in a tone that sent a chill down the Black heiress’ back, “They’re starting the next ceremony already. Do you want to join?”

Meissa looks over her shoulder to find that it has begun like Daphne said - the bonfire surrounded by a circle of absolute darkness that turned into a wall as she looked on. By all rights the light given off by the bonfire should be blocked by the circle but there was an eerie glow radiating from the circle.

She remembered what it’s supposed to do and the meaning of the circle but like always she knew she could not, would not enter it. Not even for one second.

“No,” she answers her friend simply and to the point. She knew that if she steps into the circle and allowed the magic to take her apart she wouldn’t want to be put back together.

“Okay, let’s go back then,” Daphne suggests, ignoring her mother and the angry glare her friend was being given. Meissa, glancing between the two, could only nod her agreement and just like that they were walking away from Daphne’s mother.

“Are you sure it’s wise to just leave?” she asks the blonde, glancing over her shoulder.

“You’re my friend, Meissa, I’m not going to just abandon you because my mum has an issue with your family.” The Black heiress looks at her for a long moment before she wraps an arm around the other girl, silently expressing her thanks.

 


	19. Slow and Painful

Meissa woke up with her hand throbbing painfully, causing her to curl up around it with it pressed against her chest. The pain so sharp that she was fighting the whimper that wanted to tear through her throat. She couldn’t fathom a reason for the pain in her hand and was forcing herself to bite the pillow in an effort to keep from biting a hole into her lip.

She couldn’t even muster the strength or will to look at the hand that was torturing her.

“Meissa?”  she faintly hears her friend call through the thick curtains surrounding her bed and has to bite down hard on the pillow case to keep from making a noise that would’ve worried the blonde.

It was only when she felt like she could tolerate the pain she answered, “Yeah?”

“Class is going to start soon and you haven’t gotten up for breakfast yet,” she could hear the worry in Daphne’s voice and tried as she might she couldn’t convince herself to get out of the bed to ease her friend’s concern.

“I know, I’ll be down soon,” she calls out to her before the pain in her hand got too much and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. It wasn’t until she tasted something wet and coppery that she realized that she had bitten through the skin. Muttering a soft curse to herself she finally forces herself to look at her hand, actually study it.

At first she saw nothing out of place until she tried to flex her fingers. That was when she saw the grey hue to her skin and the stiffness of her fingers alarmed her. “Oh goddess,” she swore to herself, realizing that sometime in the last eight hours someone had placed a curse on her.

The realization settled in her stomach like - she cringes at the metaphor she was close to using and forces herself to get up, testing her hand and arm to see if she still has some function of mobility. Though she was finding it hard to move her hand she still could - this relieved her greatly though it still gave her a sense of urgency. She decides to keep her fingers slightly curled so that when she has someone examine it - she needed someone to because she knew she couldn’t actually reverse whatever this was on her own - they could examine every inch of her hand for a puncture mark if that was how it happened.

Peeking through the curtains she takes a quick look around the dorm before concluding that it’s relatively safe to leave the safety and privacy of the bed. At least, safe enough to try and get dressed before she goes over to the hospital wing. She definitely didn’t fancy the idea of dealing with Madam Pomfrey so early in the day but she hated the idea of being turned into stone.

So if she had to pick the lesser of two evils, well Madam Pomfrey wins hands down.

Once dressed in her school uniform - she opted for a plain crew shirt under the button up shirt after fumbling with the buttons for almost five minutes straight - she sticks her hand into her trousers’ pockets. She needed to leave the Slytherin’s dormitory without being caught or questioned by another Slytherin.

She grimaces to herself at another flare of pain, biting into her lip to keep from making a noise. The copper taste flooding her mouth told her that she had opened the bite again but she couldn’t stop to heal it - she wasn’t even familiar with the spell to even try to anyway. Instead she just forced herself to move quickly through the common room and once she was in the corridors she picked the quickest route to the Hospital wing.

~MJB~

She takes it back, there is no way Madam Pomfrey is the lesser evil here. She’s already missed three periods and she has no doubt that her godfather will have heard that she’s been missing her classes. But Pomfrey still hasn’t reversed the curse - what else would turn her flesh to stone aside from a Dark creature? - and she was stuck in the wing trying to wait patiently for the Medic-Witch to heal her.

The one and only upside - actually there’s two - was that Madam Pomfrey fixed her lip so now she doesn’t have a split lip from her biting down onto it too hard. And the other one is that she’s been given an intense pain reliever - no more biting her lips in agony for her!

Of course it might means she’s a bit zoned out due to the potion dulling the pain. It was taking a lot out of her not to ramble on and on and on and - has she already started to ramble inside her own mind?

She lays on the cot, her right hand held high above her face - dark eyes peering at the graying skin. To the touch it was cool and hard like, well, stone. In some lighting it wasn’t even obvious that her arm was turning to stone. And it was her arm now, the curse managing to spread half way to her elbow. She’s just grateful that her hand wasn’t frozen in some odd gesture.

“Exactly how did this happen again?” Madam Pomfrey asks again for the twentieth time - it might actually be less than that but Meissa was a bit irritated, and loopy, from the whole situation so the exaggeration was highly appreciated by her mind.

“Opened a package and I guess it was from mother’s old enemies because something stuck me and,” she makes a gesture with her hand to indicate the rest of the sentence. Like before Madam Pomfrey had a doubtful look on her face but left it alone as she applied a rather foul smelling potion to the half frozen arm. Meissa couldn’t stand the smell and pulled her shirt up to try at least mask the smell.

“This will teach you to open a package without checking to see who it’s from,” Madam Pomfrey scolds the Black heiress - reminding the girl once again that she couldn’t live a normal life. Not as the daughter of an incarnated Death Eater.

“Are you any closer to breaking the curse,” Meissa chose to ask instead of reacting to what the Medic-witch said.

“It’s an extremely old curse, I have not come across this one at all in my years,” Madam Pomfrey remarks. “You may have to go to St. Mungo for better treatment.” Meissa didn’t fancy this idea at all. Most of the Wizarding World were unaware of her identity and she knew, like her godfather knew, that if the rest of the Britain Wizarding community knew there’d be hell to pay.

The House of Black has been ignored ever since Sirius Black and Bellatrix Black had been thrown into Azkaban. The two remaining daughters of Cygnus Black the Third, her grandfather, were married into other families, therefore not attracting attention to themselves. Aside from the recent deaths Meissa knew that the House of Black has been out of the spotlight since the war and she was well aware that her mother did actually have enemies out there - enemies that probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her to get back at her mother.

“I don’t think going to St. Mungo would be a good idea,” Meissa remarks, trying to ignore the questioning look she got from the Medic-witch.

“If this curse reaches your chest you will die.”

“If I go to St. Mungo I will die anyway,” she retorts.

“The Healers there will be professionals,” the Medic-Witch tries to argue.

Meissa scoffs in disagreement. “I know all about my mother. I know that there victims out there and families of those victims.” The girl barely glances at the witch besides her, thinking of the long list of victims and potential enemies out there. “Putting me in the care of those who might have relatives who suffered during the war puts me at risk of dying.”

Madam Pomfrey stares at her before she shook her head, tapping once on Meissa’s elbow - silently telling her that she can lower it for the time being. So she does, eyeing the witch as she waits for her verdict. She still couldn’t feel her hand and she knew that if she looked she could probably see the creeping stone as it spread up her arm ever so slowly. It was a testament to how bored she was that she could actually sit there to watch. 

“I’ll try one more thing before the hour’s up,” Pomfrey finally announces, “But if nothing good comes of it then I’m sending you to St. Mungo. Is there someone you trust to keep  you safe among the Healers?”

“I… I don’t know,” Meissa mutters quietly, “My godfather and my aunt usually can patch me up without having to take me to St. Mungo.”

“I see,” Pomfrey remarks, “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when I’m ready to try again.”

The Black heiress was hardly tired but she chose to listen for the time being and made herself comfortable on her left side, the half petrified arm safely resting on her hip to keep it from cracking from some unintentional move.

One thing for sure, she’ll have to talk to Zabini about his mother. His mother and Daphne’s mother were perhaps the only ones she encountered in the last twenty four hours who would pose a danger to her. She remember, vaguely, of previous stories of Arianna Zabini’s marriages and her husbands’ deaths. Each one was different, some suspicious, some not. There was one that reminded her somewhat of her current situation and knew that if Pomfrey cannot break it she may have to speak with Zabini before she gets transferred to St. Mungo. 

~MJB~

Meissa was not happy - even if she was a bit high on a pain potion - because now the curse had reached her elbow and she was stuck with it bent as if she intended to drape it across her stomach. The only upside to waking up from her nap - she’s actually surprised she fell asleep though she does suspect that Pomfrey had cast a spell over her - was that Daphne had finally realized that she wasn’t at any of her usual haunts and came looking for her at the Hospital Wing.

“Just how did you manage to get yourself into this particular fix?” the blonde asks, her arms crossed and one of her eyebrow arched.

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Meissa starts in a low voice to keep from being overheard by the Medic-witch, “I would say that Blaise’s mother did something to me last night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who in this school would know a curse that Madam Pomfrey can’t break? Or has minimum contact with?”

“But his mother? You’re going to accuse a fully grown Dark Witch?” Daphne shakes her head. “I know you’re paranoid and everything but isn’t this a bit much?”

“It’s not paranoia if I’m right.”

“Even if you are right where’s the proof?”

Meissa huffs as she rests back against the pillows. “Right now I’m a bit worried about breaking the curse than about getting proof.”

“Do you think Blaise might know how to break it?”

“If he does I’ll be grateful,” Meissa remarks though she does make a face. “I just don’t fancy the debt I’ll owe him when he does.” 

Daphne nods her head once - she was in touch with the whispers around the Slytherin house than Meissa and knew that some of them had managed to get word to their parents about a Black being in their house.

Most of the Dark families had sided with the Dark Lord, those who didn’t were either wiped out for not joining the Dark Lord or had been so minor that they were not worth the attention. It’s partially why her mother’s family was able to escape the same destruction the other families had faced. The same reason why the Greengrass family is still intact despite being neutral during the war.

In any case she knew that Meissa was right to be wary of being in debt with anyone. Not only is she part of an ancient pureblood family she was also the last known heir to its’ estates. She’d be the richest witch in the Britain community and she was still an underage witch.

Anyone who could get their claws into her would also have access to the Black vaults - not to mention their legacies.

“Do you want me to talk to Blaise?” Daphne asks, glancing once at the arm that was more than half petrified at this point. The fingers, hand, wrist, and elbow locked and with the sleeve of Meissa’s shirt cut away she could see that the curse had spread up to her bicep at this point.

“It’d be a good idea. I don’t see Madam Pomfrey letting me out of the wing long enough for me to track him down.”

Daphne nods her head before she stood, pausing long enough to squeeze her friend’s un-petrified hand, and left the wing.

Meissa, left with nothing else to do, focused on her arm, wondering if her magic could delay or hasten the petrifaction. Rather than sit still waiting for a death she decides to start mustering her magic, focusing first on her bicep where the stone curse had stopped for the time being.

~MJB~

“Ms. Black,” she hears a familiar voice that snaps her out of her mediation faster than she could sneeze. With a wince on her face from having her concentration broken she looks up to meet her godfather’s angry gaze.

“Hi,” she mutters meekly.

“Madam Pomfrey filled me in,” he cuts straight to the chase, “But something she said-.”

“I know.”

He looks at her, his eyes hard. “Why lie?”

“Because the school ignores it. So why shove it into their face?”

He frowns at her before shaking his head. “Who do you believe is responsible?”

“The Black Widow.”

“When-,” he cuts himself off and scowls at her. “I thought I made it clear to you that you are to be careful?”

 “In my defense I thought I was,” Meissa retorts. “I think I know when she had the opportunity to curse me.”

“Oh?”

“I think she may have had something on her, something that bit me.” She sees the blank look in her godfather’s eyes and ducks her head. “I may have shook hands with her.”

“You know I’m going to have to ban you from Walpurgis nights if you keep getting into these mishaps, right?”

“But-!”

“No buts,” Snape interrupts before she could protest. “You were placed in my care by your family and I want to be able to look in your mother’s eyes and tell her that I did my best.” He watch her duck her head, the black waves shielding her face from him. “Your mother loves you, you know that right?” he asks quietly, getting a slight nod from his goddaughter.

There were days, he knew, where the girl has her doubts. The years without her mother there to raise her taking a toll on her.

“I’ll speak with Madam Pomfrey and ask her to research into any known Dark artifacts with petrifaction spells,” he declares, prompting the girl to look at him. “With any luck you will be out of here before the hour’s up.”

Meissa keeps her eyes on her godfather as he turned and stalked towards Madam Pomfrey’s office. She had no doubt that he would do his best to undo the curse on her. But, she looks down at her arm where the curse had begun to creep up her arm once again after being pushed down to just below her elbow, she didn’t think that this was the kind of curse that can be easily beaten.

The level of skill for the curse, to her, said that it was an ancient curse. Perhaps one passed down through the generations of a family. For all she knew  it could belong to the family the Black Widow was born to or any of the seven families she had been briefly married into.

The research Madam Pomfrey would need to do may take too long. She was already living on borrowed time, pushing the curse back as much as she could without draining herself completely. It was a risk she was taking, using her magic to fight the curse - there was a possibility she could lose her magic to the curse forever, even if she was cured.

Meissa didn’t want to think the worse - she couldn’t imagine herself being a squib - but she knew she couldn’t wait for Madam Pomfrey and her godfather to come up with a solution. Their best chance was Blaise knowing how to reverse the spell. She just hoped that Daphne would come back in time. She knew that if they waited too long the curse will turn her chest to stone and without the flexibility to breathe she’d suffocate.

She glares at her hand and makes a note to herself to never trust another person again.

~MJB~

Daphne wasn’t having much luck finding her fellow house mate. Blaise has always been a quiet person but she never realized how often he would disappear. Not even Draco was aware of his whereabouts and he usually keeps tracks of those in his class. Draco was often the reason why Daphne knew where to find Meissa whenever the other girl disappears during those moments when she just wants to be away.

It had already been half an hour since Daphne left the Hospital wing to search for Blaise and she was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to find him before Meissa was sent to St. Mungo.

“Daphne?”

Startled to hear her name, she turns towards the voice to find that it’s Hermione - her arms laden with books as per usual. “Hermione,” she greets the Gryffindor.

“Is… is everything okay?” the bushy haired girl asks, slightly hesitant to ask as if she realizes that no, nothing is alright.

At first Daphne didn’t want to say anything but then she remembered that Meissa trusts this one and the Gryffindor has actually been civil towards her despite the house rivalry. “Have you seen Blaise Zabini?” she asks instead of answering her directly.

“I think I saw him last in the library.”

“When was this?!”

“Five minutes ago?”

Daphne nods and ran past Hermione for the library. He had to still be there!

“Daphne? Wait for me!”

She half turns, doing an odd side hop, “Hurry up then!”

“What’s going on?!”

“Meissa’s cursed. Zabini might have cure,” was all Daphne said on the issue.

“Oh god.”

Running flat out they reached the library, just barely managing to keep from bursting into the room.

“Do you think he’s still in there?” Hermione asks worriedly, glancing at the blonde who was tying her hair up into a knot to keep it from her face.

“I need to find to find him,” the blonde answers shortly. “I don’t have time to wonder.” With that she pushes through the doors with the Gryffindor following along quickly behind her. The wing was large with many floors with nary a clue to where to start. “Do you remember where he was when you saw him last?”

“I was leaving… he looked like he was studying a book on the third floor,” Hermione recalls.

“I’ll check the third floor, you search from here to there, does that sound fair?”

“Just find him,” was all Hermione said in response.

Daphne nods her head before hurrying up the steps, trying hard not to run but nearly chucking it aside in her haste and in her concern. The relief of seeing the boy was greater than she ever thought it would be.

“Zabini!” she slams her hands down onto the table, prompting him to look up from his reading. “What’s the cure.”

“Cure?” he drawls as he bookmarks his place and shuts the book.

“Your mother cursed Meissa. Now tell me how to break it!”

He tilts his head in confusion at first before he realizes what she could be talking about. With a frustrated sigh he covers his face with a hand, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought I made it clear to her not to go cursing anyone from Hogwarts,” he mutters to himself. With an exhausted look on his face he finally meets Daphne’s angry gaze. “What’s happened to Black so far?”

“She’s turning into stone.”

He winces. “That one is a slow and painful death,” he remarks with a shake of his head. “We need to talk to Professor Snape. I don’t have the ingredients to brew the antidote but I have it memorized.”

“Professor Snape should be in the Hospital Wing by now,” Daphne comments as he gathers his things.

“Black will be fine for at least another twelve hours,” Blaise remarks, sliding the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “The curse usually takes twenty-four hours to completely consume the victim.”

“And if it reaches her chest first?”

He stills, dark eyes meeting blue. “Then she’ll die first before the curse takes her,” he mutters. With a look of determination on his face he made his way out of the library, Daphne barely having the time to grab Hermione from the second floor.

The blonde had no intention of ever losing Meissa - not to something so stupid as a curse, it just wasn’t something she could ever envision being the cause of the girl’s death. Hermione was still unsure of what was happening but she knew that it must be serious to make the blonde Slytherin break her composure. The year was not even done and she can probably count with one hand how many times she had seen the blonde lose her composure and she was positive that each time was because of Meissa.

~MJB~

Meissa was fighting a losing battle, she knew it, she had to have known it. Lying to herself was never something she ever did and she knows she didn’t want to start now. Not with the curse reaching for her heart. Not when she was getting more and more exhausted with each passing hour. She didn’t know if she’ll get her magic back once the curse breaks, she was scared to know if that’s what would happen.

Magic was her life. It wasn’t just a way of living. It was all she knew.

“Meissa!” she hears someone shout her name, prompting her to look up from where she had been concentrating on a clear crystal. A focus gem her godfather had given her to improve her concentration and help her center her magic after he realized what she was trying to do.

“Hermione?” she blinks, surprised to see the Gryffindor in the hospital wing and - she frowns as she notices this - did she look like she just came from a potion mishap? “What are you doing here?”

“I needed something from you,” the bushy haired girl replies, producing a compact scissor.

“What, you need a clipping of my hair?” Meissa asks. The counter-curse required something from the victims?

“And a few drops of your blood.”

“That’s getting dangerously close to blood magic now.”

“Blood magic?”

“I keep forgetting that you’re not that familiar with the many branches of magic,” Meissa remarks drily. “Well, they won’t actually cover it that much in school,” she mutters as she allows Hermione to cut away a little at her hair. She didn’t care where the Gryffindor had cut but after it was done she was pleased to note that it wasn’t a noticeable cut.

“Why, and what do you know about it?”

Meissa tilts her head thoughtfully. “Well, the reason why they won’t cover blood magic is going to be because it falls under Dark magic. And honestly I don’t know much about it. It’s not exactly something my family was interested in.” She holds her hand out for Hermione who was frowning at her.

“I… suppose I understand why they would think that,” Hermione mutters as she got out a needle, pressing the tip into Meissa’s skin. Hurrying to catch the drops of bloods she needed in a clear glass vial.

“Blood magic is dangerous,” Meissa tells the Gryffindor in a firm tone. “A few strands of hair can be used to allow a person to mimic another person’s form,” Meissa starts in a low voice, “Their blood can allow another person to control the victim. Maybe even cause them to boil from the inside out. Their blood turning so hot that they just can’t breathe.”

“You’re scaring me with that kind of talk Meissa.”

“Sorry,” the Black heiress mutters quietly. “My point is, makes sure that what you’ve collected is actually used. If there is any left… destroy it.”

 Hermione frowns before she nods her head in understanding. “We should be done in an hour,” she mutters before she glances at Meissa’s arm. “… Will you last that long?”

“I’m going to have to whether I like it or not,” Meissa does a one shoulder shrug, the curse having actually reached her shoulder at this point. She does this lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure Hermione but instead it made the brunette worry.

Meissa watch Hermione all but run from the wing, the clipping of hair and vial of blood clutched preciously to her chest. As uncomfortable the topic had made her she knew that there were some benefits in it. The one text on the branch was clear enough for her to understand that if she so desired she could use a drop of her blood to identify where those who share her blood are on the planet. Well, if she had a map of the world to be more accurate.

And she knew that some of the old manors in the Black estates had blood wards meant to protect the family and obey those who has control over the estates regardless of who lived inside the wards. But… there was something she was forgetting.

She frowns as she tries to remember what that little nugget was, staring blankly at the blood smeared on her finger. She was rubbing her fingers together, thinking, when she realized something.

“Of course,” she whispers quietly to herself as she reaches for the needle Hermione had left behind in her haste. Once she has the needle between her teeth she pricks her finger, the blood welling quickly to the surface. Working quickly she smears the blood onto her petrified arm in a clear design of a rune. When the blood runs out she repeats the process over again before she managed to cover her             entire arm with runes. The resulting lightness in her head was getting harder to ignore but she was able to cover the parts of her bicep she could reach and half of her forearm.

She felt odd with the runes on her on top of the curse but could feel the difference. Before the curse had felt oppressive and stifling, now it felt like she could actually breathe. She still felt the curse squeezing at her but it didn’t feel as heavy as it had before.

“Miss Black what do you think you’re doing!” she hears Madam Pomfrey shout but found she couldn’t care what she thought as she bought herself some time. Her magic had a slimy feeling to it now but it was a price she was willing pay if it gave the others a chance to bring her the antidote.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps in warning, shuffling away from the Medic-witch to keep her from smearing the runes.

“Meissa… those are,” she hears her godfather whisper.

“I know.”

“Why would -.”

“It was a risk I was willing to take,” she cuts him off.

Snape scowls at her before ushering the disapproving Medic away. The glance he gave her from over his shoulder was enough for her to know that she’d be getting a stern lecture from him after this.

If she survives that is.

 


	20. Serious Conversations and Worries

Hermione all but ran for the dungeons after getting the clippings and the blood. She hadn’t liked seeing the curse first hand. She didn’t expect to see that her friend’s arm would be completely petrified into stone or that it would be creeping, actually creeping, across her shoulder. She knew that Meissa was pale, sometimes she looked unnaturally so, but seeing the grey tinge and her friend’s inability to move her arm had frightened her.

Meissa had always seemed so strong that seeing her fighting a curse and seemingly lose the battle was - she never wants to see her friend look so beaten. The raven haired Slytherin wasn’t meant to be pushed down so low that she’d look ready to give up.

She bursts into the room where Blaise and Daphne were working on the potion that would reverse the effects of the curse and cure Meissa. The tall dark skinned boy was stirring the brew counter-clockwise, his brows furrowed in concentration. Daphne was slicing and dicing the ingredients to the specified sizes Blaise had mentioned. The pair had been talking to each other in low voices - Daphne asking for more instructions as she prepared the ingredients and Blaise giving them in a steady tone that gave no hint of any uneasiness.

It wasn’t until Hermione burst into the room that the pair broke pattern and looked up from their respective jobs to acknowledge her. For the first time since school started Hermione saw the iciness in Daphne’s eyes, the potential she heard about from some of the other students in the school.

She hadn’t wanted to believe the stories at first, she thought herself familiar with the blonde that she would refuse to believe that Daphne could be capable of shutting people out. But she could see it now and it scared her because was she changing because she was afraid that they were going to lose Meissa? If Meissa’s closest friend was losing hope then what chance did they have to save their friend?

“Hermione,” Blaise’s voice snaps the Gryffindor out of her thoughts, “The clippings and blood. We need them mixed with the diced Mandrake leaves.” He pointed her towards the mortar - a small ceramic bowl - that contained the before mentioned leaves.

She nods her head and hurries over to the bowl, adding the clippings first and then the blood, using the pestle she grinds the ingredients into a thick paste that was more black than red.

“Done,” she announces to the others just as Daphne was handing over a handful of diced roots.

“Just in time,” Blaise remarks as he sprinkles in the roots, stirring.

Hermione watched on as the potion took on a dark magenta color before offering the mortar to Blaise when he reached a hand towards her. She watched as the black paste consisting of Mandrake leaves, Meissa’s hair and blood was scraped out of the bowl and into the cauldron.

The bushy haired Gryffindor waited, her breath caught in her throat for the potion to change color, to react to the final ingredients. Blaise had stepped back, the stirrer removed from the potion, the second he had added the paste and was watching it warily while Daphne stood dispassionately by the cauldron. Her blue eyes staring blankly at the potion until it boils over, the color shifting from a deep magenta color to a beautiful teal blue color.

A near sigh of relief escapes Hermione's lips as the color registers in her mind - it was the exact shade Blaise said the potion needed to be in order for it to work for Meissa. But was it the right consistency?

That was the biggest concern they had - neither of them were brilliant at potions, even Hermione wasn't sure she would've gotten this complicated potion right on her first try. But with Snape busy in the Hospital wing they had to try it on their own. They didn't trust anyone else to handle the potion - the girls didn't want anyone else to be aware of the fact that Meissa could very well be sitting at death's doorsteps and Blaise only wanted to rectify his mother's actions.

The fact that he would have Meissa Black in his debt was something that could be dealt with later, after the girl's life was saved for the time being.

“How thick is it supposed to be?” Hermione asks worriedly as she peers at the potion from her relative safety.

“Like water,” Blaise mutters as he eyes the potion. There was one way they could check the consistency but it also meant disturbing it. He remembered that if the potion is disturbed too soon after the final ingredients has been added then the potion would be ruined. Some of the ingredients they could grab from the student cabinets, others were harder to get and meant that they couldn't risk messing the potion up more than once.

“How soon can we take it to Meissa?” Daphne asks, her voice flat and cold.

“Ten minutes at the earliest,” Blaise answers as he studies the potion with a critical eye, lowering the flame.

“She may not have ten minutes!” Hermione squeaks.

“If she doesn't have ten minutes then she most definitely will not have another hour if we mess this batch up,” the dark skinned boy retorts.

Hermione stares at the Slytherin in muted horror - she was honest to god afraid that the potion would turn out to be a failure and the curse had already started to stretch across Meissa's shoulder. It'd be a miracle if the curse hasn't closed up her throat at this point!

~MJB~

Snape scowls at the blood runes that Meissa had smeared onto her petrified arm, the runes crude but surprisingly effective.

He knew that she would have an affinity for runes - the countless hours of drawing she did as a child indicated she would have the patience needed for the tiring art - but he hadn't been aware of the fact she had access to tomes pertaining to blood magic. He hadn't been aware that she was even studying runes in the first place - did he really need to focus more on her education and what she does in her free time?

He thought he had removed any and all tomes that would be too advanced for her from the library but apparently he had missed one...

He frowns to himself as something else occurs to him. Was it possible that the tomes she picked up the blood runes from were in the Malfoy’s library? She did spend a great deal of her childhood being carted back and forth between the Black Manor and the Malfoy Manor.

While he didn’t remember Lucius ever performing blood magic or even using runes he wouldn’t put it past the man to at least have the tomes for the possible occasion of needing them. The brilliant thing about runes that so long they remain undisturbed they were powered by the magic around the runes.

And, unfortunately for him, Hogwarts was rich with magic - both ancient and new - any runes made on the school grounds would be powered indefinitely until the runes were destroyed.

In one hand he was grateful that Meissa hadn't tried using ink to create the runes while in the other hand he was furious that she had used blood to power her runes.

He knew that disturbing ink based runes were harder. There were too many types of inks that were nearly impossible to erase. Doubly so if they were applied to the skin. The only way they would get the ink off skin was to use an extremely expensive solution for that specific ink in question.

He would've preferred her using ink for the runes instead of using her own blood - he has heard stories about blood magic and the consequences of it's uses. The wizarding community of Britain has placed so much of a stigma on blood magic that finding out the true stories about those who practiced was hard - just wasn't impossible.

What little he has heard made him worry about the safety and wellbeing of the young Black heiress. Just a little bit of blood magic can be detrimental to her - her temper and views on things could lead her even deeper into the Dark arts of blood magic.

Was she determined to make it hard for him to be her guardian? He knew that many still saw him as a Death Eater - there was a time when he genuinely _was_ a Death Eater. He knew that if it got out that Meissa Black - scion of the Black legacy - was practicing blood magic and his name popped up...

It would not bode well for anyone.

“How long have you been aware of blood magic?” he asks gruffly.

“Since I was nine maybe,” she answers, her voice unwavering - the only indication that yes she is telling the truth about this. “And this was the first time,” she tacks on before he could ask for more details.

“You foolish, _foolish_ girl,” he sneers, his voice wavering to his horror. The look in his goddaughter's eyes told him that she heard that and he was _glad_ that she didn't tease him for it. Her eyes silently communicating that she _knows_ she's being foolish. His mind recalling that to her the risk was worth it.

But would it still be worth it two months from now?

“Uncle Sevy...” Meissa mutters quietly, her hand fiddling with the rough wool of the blanket.

“Yes?”

“… I've been thinking about something.” He glances around before sitting himself in a chair by the bed. Indicating to her that he's listening. “I... I want the paper works.”

“For...?”

She doesn't look at him for a long moment before she seems to gather the courage to both speak and meet his gaze. “The Black estates... I want the paper works that would have Wizengamot recognize me as the Lady of the Black estates.”

He blinks, the words taking a moment to register in his mind before he could react. “What?!” he exclaims. “You want to take on the responsibilities of your family's estates now?!” he all but shouts. They were fortunate that aside from Madam Pomfrey they were the only ones in the wing or else they'd be the center of the attention.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he whispered lowly. “Why not leave it to your Aunt or some other relative!”

“Aunt Cissy is married into the Malfoy family!” she argues. “Mother is in Azkaban! And just about any other relative is either dead, married into another family, or disowned!”

He frowns to himself as he tries to recall the family tree, realizing with a start that she was right. And he remembered that certain requirements had to be met before the person could be the head of the family.

One: they had to been born a Black.

Two: they cannot be married into another family.

Three: they cannot ever been disowned from the family (even if they were welcomed back into the family).

Four: they cannot ever been imprisoned for whatever reason.

There was literally no one to take on the title and responsibilities of the estates. And he didn't like the idea that Meissa was willing to step up to the plate.

“You're only eleven,” he tries to argue.

“I know.”

“They'd never take you seriously.”

“I know.”

“You still intend to go through with this...”

“My family... It's my family Uncle Sevy,” the raven haired girl mutters quietly as if those simple words would make it easier for him to accept this fact.

It wasn't, but he knew her and despite how she feels about her relatives she still cared about the family name. He could try stonewalling her on this matter, do anything to slow the process down but he knew that there would be no stopping her. Her rage and wrath over any attempts to stop her would only serve to isolate her from him - as much as he hates the idea he knew that there would be things out there that she'd need advising on.

“I'll see about getting the paper works,” he finally sighs in agreement - the only bright side to this was the smile she gave him.

~MJB~

Hermione was all but running to the hospital wing, the precious potion clutched in her hand - wishing, hoping, _praying_ that she wasn't too late. That they weren't too late.

It took longer than they thought for the potion to turn to the right consistency - longer than Blaise said was traditional for the potion. It had taken a good fifteen more minutes - totaling up to twenty-five minutes.

Blaise had no idea why it would take so long for the potion to settle - not at first anyway. It wasn’t until Hermione was fretting that he theorized that there may have been a spell or two on Meissa - something that would linger on the clippings or blood and interfere with the potion. But Hermione couldn't understand how a few clippings of hair and some blood could cause interference.

She wasn't stupid to think that there was something wrong with the other potion ingredients so it had to been something related to Meissa. She remembered reading something about how some potions can have an adverse reaction to spells cast on the drinker.

But those precious moments waiting for the potion to settle left her scared that they may be too late. And she has no doubt that Daphne was just as afraid if not more so. She knows that she isn’t as close of a friend she could be towards Meissa - even though the raven haired Slytherin has all but taken her under her wing.

Daphne was still cold and shut off emotionally - practically frigid towards Hermione. The Gryffindor had no doubt that if things had been different Daphne wouldn’t have been civil towards her period. Hermione could only hope that she'd return to normal after Meissa is out of the woods so to speak. The blonde didn’t even want to accompany her to the Hospital Wing - preferring to linger in the dungeons with Blaise to clean up their mess.

“Miss Granger,” she hears a familiar voice call after her - just as she was about to disappear around the corner towards the Hospital Wing. She grimaces once before smoothing out her expression to something respectful, turning to face her Head of House.

“Hello Professor McGonagall,” she greets pleasantly, the precious vial shoved into her robe's pocket. She can only hope that the glass doesn't break.

“What are you doing out of class young lady?” the stern woman questions, her eyes narrowed.

“It's my free period, Professor,” she answers smoothly, thinking that she has class with Professor Binns and without Meissa there she doesn't think she'd be able to get through the class without blowing a fuse at Ron or Harry. She didn't think she could concentrate on her classes now that she knew where the other girl had been since that morning.

She knew she couldn’t - how does one just go on with their life knowing that their friend could die any second without a potion to break the curse?

Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes at the young Gryffindor and for one heart stopping moment Hermione thought she was caught.

“Where, then, are you headed?”

Thinking herself to be safe she answers truthfully, “To the Hospital wing, ma’am.”

“The Hospital wing?” McGonagall frowns, her eyes narrowing even further. “Has any of your house mates fallen ill?”

“No.”

“Then why are you in such a rush to get to the Hospital Wing?”

“My friend, she’s… she was cursed,” Hermione answers again before she felt this prickling feeling along the back of her neck. The sense of unease hitting her harshly and prompting her to start moving - regardless of the fact she had not yet been dismissed. “I’m sorry,” she calls to the Transfiguration professor, “but I have to go!”

She ignores the professor’s attempts to call her back, actually running flat out for the Hospital wing this time.

She couldn’t be late, she couldn’t afford to be late.

She can only hope that her friend was okay and that she would continue to be okay. That this delay hasn’t hurt her.

~MJB~

Meissa was paler than usual, her hair tangled from her repeatedly running her fingers through the dark strands - and from never brushing her hair that morning. The blood runes on her arm were still working but it was not a permanent solution - it had delayed the encroaching of the curse after reclaiming a portion of her petrified shoulder but it was not a miracle worker.

Snape was deeply unsettled - his constant pacing done outside of eyesight of the young girl - and tried as he may he could not, would not calm down. He knew of Daphne and Blaise's attempt to brew a potion - a cure - for the curse but his worries over his goddaughter had prompted him to leave the matter to his students - and to Hermione Granger.

As much as he despise the fact that Meissa has a Gryffindor friend he was sure that Hermione's smarts, Daphne's competence, and Blaise's knowledge of the potion that they'd be able to brew the antidote properly. He has to have confidence on this or else he'd have wasted precious moments of his goddaughter's life to fret over her.

Yet the more drawn out Meissa looks the more he wonders if he made the right decision.

He had essentially trusted the life of his goddaughter to three first years and somehow he suspects that her mother will not be forgiving if she ever finds out about this.

Just as he was about to work himself into a frenzy over this the doors to the Hospital wing slams open with a loud bang and Hermione ran in, her busy hair even more wild than usual. “Meissa!” the girl cries before she all but flew to the pale faced pre-teen, prompting Snape to step aside lest he be used as a stepping stool.

“No running in the Hospital!” he distinctly hears Madam Pomfrey snap from wherever she had hidden herself after giving Meissa her latest dose of the numbing potion. She was fiercely disapproving of the blatant signs of the blood magic used by Meissa and aside from making her comfortable - in other words, kept the pain to a tolerable level - she made herself scarce.

“'Mione,” Meissa mutters, giving the Gryffindor girl a lopsided smile. Snape wasn't sure if it was the pain numbing potion or her exhaustion that was making her seem burden free. “You're back.”

“Of course!” Hermione clasps onto the un-petrified hand. “I have the antidote! You need to drink it!”

He watches Meissa grimace at the other girl’s words - reminding him, for some odd reason, that he needs to make sure that his goddaughter is still on her potions. If he remembers right this would be the seventh month in her three year regime and, as he discovered the hard way, the point where she'd just quit taking them for no explainable reasons - or at least from what he could observe, she was never forthcoming to the possible reasons why she'd stop.

“Any idea how it taste?” Meissa asks, her tone indicating that she hopes it wouldn't be foul tasting.

“None, sorry,” Hermione answers with an apologetic look as she searches her robes' pockets.

Snape frowns to himself, thinking, and decides he needed to figure out why his goddaughter keeps going off her potions. He had put it off for far too long and it was now to a point where she could end up develop an intense dislike - more than it already is - for potions. He knew that some potions are cannot be avoided and her dislike may one day be the barrier for a life or death potion.

When he originally created the potions - in an attempt to help her - he was in such a hurry he may have missed something. As prideful he is - some would read this as stubborn - he knew that he could not let that stand in his way of discovering what is wrong with his original designs. It couldn’t be Meissa’s fault - not when she knows that she needs the potions, not when she’s constantly going off them in the exact same month each time.

“Ugh,” he hears Meissa gag, prompting him to look over. A wary smile appearing on his face as she held the vial away from her face with a disgusted look. “That's - ugh that's foul.”

“It doesn't -,” Hermione starts to say before he interrupts, his mind coming to quick conclusions.

“It is possible that because the potion was tailored specifically for her that the potion will have a specific smell for her while being odorless for others,” he injects.

“What he said,” Meissa agrees with that disgusted look on her face still.

“Does that apply only to potions tailored for a person or are there specific potions with these known properties?” Hermione asks, her eyes bright with curiosity. Though the blank look she gets from Snape had her curbing the curiosity.

“Severus,” he hears, prompting him to look back towards the now open doors to find that Minerva McGonagall was approaching him with a rather stern and angry look on her face. “What on -,” she was saying, stopping when she looks past him to where Meissa and Hermione were. Her eyes turning hard when she sees the discoloration in Meissa’s arm. “What happened to Miss Black?”

“She was cursed at some time last night,” he answers as simply as he could without the information being too little.

“So the reason why Miss Granger is skipping History of Magic is because Miss Black has been cursed?” the stern faced witch questions, her voice holding disapproval and a hint of something else.

The potion master was slightly puzzled as to what that something was but knew that as much as she disapproved there was a part of her that approved of the fact that Hermione cares so much about a friend. Perhaps not the fact that the friend in question is a Slytherin but he knows.

“In its most simplistic form, yes.”

“And you’re not chasing her away.” He nods, arching an eyebrow waiting for the point to this. “Normally you’d be chasing her away.”

“She is Meissa’s friend,” was his explanation for it - as if that simple line could explain why he was not snapping at the young Gryffindor girl and why he’s standing off to the side while Hermione tries to convince Meissa to drink the potion.

It was and wasn’t at the same time.

The way her jaw tightened was his clue that she didn’t approve this friendship between the two houses - and he couldn’t blame her, not with how their students often targeted each other. The pranks and taunts were usually brutal.

But for the first time in a long time he could see a potential bridge being formed between the two houses. In one hand he wants to discourage this friendship - tell his goddaughter to stick with Slytherin friends or at least the Ravenclaw - while the other hand he knew that she was so distrusting of new people that her having two friends was a novel idea to him. And he knew that once someone got inside that defense she had built there was no letting go.

“Mm… how severe is Miss Black’s condition?”

“It’s severe enough that I’d recommend her going to St. Mungo,” Madam Pomfrey speaks up, appearing by the Head Gryffindor’s elbow.

“She cannot go there,” was Snape’s immediate response to the name of the hospital.

The old witch looks sharply at him. “She argued against it - for some reason she’s aware of her mother’s actions.”

“Surely not the whole sordid story!” McGonagall whisper shouts.

“She knows enough to be aware of the fact that attending Hogwarts has put her at risk of revenge,” Snape remarks - it was something he had debated at length with the girl’s aunt, and godmother, before Meissa had said - no, demanded was more accurate - she’d attend Hogwarts where her entire family has gone.

McGonagall sighs, her eyes closing briefly. “Do we have any idea who may have cursed her?”

“She said that she was cursed by an item she received in the mail,” Madam Pomfrey offers as an explanation - though the tone in her voice indicated that she did not believe this.

And Snape could not disagree with the doubt in her - cursed items tend to last for the duration of the physical contact between the person and the item, once that contact has ended the curse is broken until the next occasion. It was not Meissa’s best lie - not unless she wants to argue that the curse entered her blood through an open wound on her hand.

“She does not seem like she would be that reckless,” McGonagall remarks in a thoughtful tone. 

“Normally she is not,” Snape agrees before he decides he could admit a small detail about her. “As you are all aware, she hails from the Black family,” he starts evenly as he watched his goddaughter argue with Hermione, the potion as far away as she could hold it. “Without having to declare an alliance to any type of magic she is extremely sensitive to dark magic.”

McGonagall looked sharply at him once his words sunk in. “Do you mean to say that she may have been cursed because her guard was down due to last night?”

Snape dipped his head barely in acknowledgement, his lips quirking just barely when he heard her muttering.

“How do you propose we keep this from happening again?”

“I do not know,” he admits. “Meissa has always had this sensitivity to magic. Light or Dark - it mattered not what it is identified as for she feels them both equally.”

“Is this why she can cast nonverbal magic?”

“No, I believe that is just pure dedication on her part.”

There was a troubled look in the Transfiguration Professor’s face. “Snape, I think you and I need to talk about Miss Black’s magic.”

He arches an eyebrow at the Gryffindor witch before turning to Pomfrey, “Can you make sure that Miss Black takes the potion? She may not due to… other reasons.” He waited until the medic-witch nodded and left to coerce the young Slytherin girl into drinking the potion.

“I trust that Poppy will make sure that Meissa drinks her potion,” he says flatly to McGonagall’s questioning look. “Shall we retire to my study for our conversation?”

“We shall.”

With one last look towards his goddaughter - whom he found to be watching him with a carefully blank look on her face - he followed McGonagall out of the wing. There was nothing else he could do in the room aside from worrying gray strands into his hair. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could do more as Meissa watched him over Poppy’s shoulder, her eyes literally unreadable to him.

~MJB~

Meissa was a bit relieved to have the curse broken but she wasn’t pleased at all - she was being held overnight by Madam Pomfrey who wanted to make sure there was no lingering effects from the curse. She was expected to sleep but she doubted she’d be able to - the open space of the infirmary and lack of privacy wards around the cot was making her uncomfortable.

So she couldn’t sleep at all. Then again, when could she ever sleep?

She was grateful that the girls were able to work out a solution to the curse - she knew that she’ll probably have to pay back Blaise for his help. One part of her was fascinated by her regained ability to move her right arm while the other part was disgusted by the extremes she had gone to buy her friends time to save her.

Her arm was still a bit stiff - she wasn’t sure if it was because it had been turned into stone or because it had been unmovable for nearly a day - and her magic had a slimy feel to it now. It was actually sickening and she was reluctant to even use her magic now. Of course Madam Pomfrey didn’t permit her patients to cast spells within her hospital so there was no chance of her actually using her magic.

It’s just, she couldn’t sleep at all and it was maddening - she wanted the comfort of sleep so that she could at least escape the cold silence of the hospital wing. Even if sleeping left her vulnerable.

She was honestly tempted to ask for a dreamless sleep draught but she knew that if her godfather found out about it he’d give her a scolding of a lifetime. The draught - as she had found out before - had a high chance of causing her to become addicted to it. She couldn’t risk taking the potion or else she’d need about a two weeks detox period from _all_ potions - even the ones she is suppose to be taking for at least three years.

The cons of taking that oddly addicting potion outweighs its’ pros by so much that she needed to be closely monitored while taking a dose of the potion. It was odd, in her opinion though, because she knows that the potion shouldn’t be addicting and it shouldn’t be able to upset her life so much that she needs to be tied down and left in a magically protected room to detox.

As much as she wanted to escape from her nightmares she knew that there was nothing she could really do. She already took precautions to keep from disturbing others in the middle of the night although she suspected that her friend knew about the frequent nightmares.

The amount of times she been woken up by Daphne was a bit on the high side in her opinion. Although she was immensely grateful because the other Slytherin was one of the people she could tolerate being in the same bed with her for more than five seconds.

Still, she was stuck there just staring at the ceiling, her thoughts on an endless loop. She was stuck trying to figure out what she could do after she gets out of the hospital wing. And she had no doubt that her cousin had been running rampage without her around to keep an eye on him.

And there was the whole situation with Hagrid…

 

 


	21. Freedom is Overrated

Meissa adjusted her tie uncomfortably, unintentionally loosening the knot from her neck and giving her some breathing room. Her right arm and shoulder was still stiff but she had finally been discharged from the hospital - although she was having a bit of difficulty sensing _anything_. She could barely register being touched along her right arm and Madam Pomfrey later mentioned that the brief moment she could register being touched was when she had literally pinched her.

Madam Pomfrey barely gave her the permission to return to classes and it was only with promises from Hermione - who had visited her shortly before the Great Hall opened for breakfast - that she was permitted to leave from the hospital wing.

“Here,” Hermione mutters before she was readjusting the tie until it was just right.

“Where’s Daphne?” she takes the opportunity to ask - it hadn’t really escaped her notice that she hadn’t seen the blonde since she went looking for Blaise. She doesn’t think that the other Slytherin would ask of a personal favor from Daphne - not when she’s already personally in his debt from the potion.

“Meissa… I don’t know how to say this,” Hermione whispers quietly.

“Just say it,” she interrupts - she didn’t want to beat around the bush about this. Not when it concerns Daphne.

“She - She seems like she’s turning emotionally cold.”

Meissa frowns - was Daphne cutting herself off from everyone again? “Do you know if Blaise did something to her?”

“Um… I don’t think so but they were alone in the dungeon for a bit while I went to get samples from you.”

“You left two Slytherins alone…”

Hermione gave her a sharp look. “You’re acting like I should’ve known better but you’re forgetting a simple fact. One of us had to stay with him to make sure he’s not putting something odd in the potion.”

Meissa sighed to herself - she knew what Hermione was saying, she could understand it and she had no doubt that it was Daphne who had that worry in the first place. It was something Hermione wouldn’t really consider - not when she hadn’t really been exposed to the darker side of the Slytherin house yet. Meissa saw the Gryffindor girl as someone who had an easy life - someone who wouldn’t really understand the politics of the pureblood families until she’s been thrown in without warning.

Something she didn’t want to do to the other girl.

“I’ll talk to her later, see if I can sort out what’s bothering her,” Meissa decides quietly after Hermione had taken a step back to take in her appearance.

The Gryffindor girl looks up at her for a long moment before nodding her head. “Breakfast is going to end soon, we should go before the food’s gone.”

The Black heiress made a face at the reminder of food and was actually going to say something about preferring to skip the meal when her stomach growled - loudly. With a blush on her face she looked away from Hermione’s knowing face.

“Did you eat dinner last night?”

“Um… I honestly don’t remember.” 

“Meissa!”

“Mione!”

The Gryffindor huffed as she crossed her arms at her friend. “I know you had a lot going on yesterday but you shouldn’t be skipping meals!”

“Mione, you and my godfather tell me this every day -,” Meissa starts to say.

“Then you should be listening to us!”

“But that doesn’t mean that I have an appetite at the time,” the Black heiress finished stubbornly. 

“You should try eating regardless if you’re hungry or not.”

“You can’t really force yourself to eat when it just doesn’t taste like anything,” she retorts.

“But what are you going to do if you become too weak to cast spells?”

“I’ll never actually -.”

“You’d never know, Meissa!” Hermione cuts her off.

The two girls looked at each other for a long moment: Meissa's expression blank and unreadable while Hermione's was pleading.

“I'll make more of an effort to eat,” Meissa mutters lowly - the only concession she was willing to make regarding this. “Let's go.”

Meissa walked out of the Hospital wing with Hermione following after her, quickly falling into step next to the raven haired Slytherin.

“Meissa?”

“Mm?”

“Is it usually dangerous during Walpurgis Nights?”

The Black heiress turned to look at her with a frown on her face. “It's a night where magic in its purest form comes back. It doesn't come without risks.”

“So it is dangerous.”

“You have to remember, ‘Mione, that families of any alliance will have their own agenda - it just so happened that last night I encountered someone who either wanted revenge against my mother or wanted to test me.”

“Which one do you think it is?”

“In my opinion, Lady Zabini was interested in testing me. If she wanted to she could have chosen a curse that would have a more immediate result.”

“Why does it feel like I have landed in the middle of a cold war?”

“A what?”

“Uh… that’ll take a bit to explain.”

“A muggle thing?”

“It would require filling you in on many things.”

“Fun. May we tackle that at a later time?”

“If you want to.”

~MJB~

Meissa was glaring at the toast sitting innocently on her plate with some butter smeared onto one side. Her stomach growled at her but the inside of her mouth tasted like ashes. She hadn’t managed a bite of anything yet - not even a sip - and already she dreaded the prospect of eating.

“Meissa…” she hears Draco mutter, nudging her ever so slightly to try and encourage her to eat.

It struck her funny that both Draco and Hermione would have similar concerns over her eating habits and yet both of them get along like fire and water. 

“I’m not hungry,” she whispers to him, ignoring the rumble her stomach was making. Shouldn’t it be revolting at any ideas of eating? Not demanding for food that she knows should taste delicious.

“Meissa, I can hear your stomach from here,” he retorts.

“You’re also sitting next to me,” she throws back. “It’d be more impressive if you could hear it from the Gryffindor table.” The Gryffindors were seated as far away from the Slytherins as possible - she could only hazard a guess that the school wished to minimize any fights between the two houses during meals.

“Why would anyone want to be around the Gryffindors,” Pansy gripes - cutting into the conversation at Meissa’s comment. “They’re so arrogant and they never follow the rules!”

Meissa arched a fine brow at her, “I believe,” she drawls lazily - though Draco knew she was up to something when he saw that her eyes had a dark glint in them, “you just described yourself.”

Draco knew immediately that she had just poked a hornet nest and distracted Pansy just in time to prevent her from retaliating - his cousin taking this chance to slip away in the chaos.

The pale haired boy glanced up from the conversation he had engaged in with Pansy to see Meissa leave the hall and - as much as he hated the fact that his cousin has made friends with Gryffindors - was a bit relieved to see Meissa’s friend slip out shortly afterwards.

He glances over to where he knows Daphne Greengrass is sitting - it was difficult to separate Meissa from Daphne, unless they were having one of their tiffs. Except he couldn’t remember them having a fight recently. He knows that Meissa hadn’t been to any of her classes the day before but it wasn’t that unusual for her to skip school the day after Walpurgis Night back when they were in Primary.

From what he had understood she was profoundly sensitive to all forms of magic - be it Light or Dark - and the days leading up to, as well as the day of, tended to leave her on edge for the entire week.

He knows that as the son of a Black and a Malfoy he should be as sensitive as Meissa is but for some reason he could only sense when strong Dark magic was used. He just didn’t have that sensitivity to magic like Meissa - though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to have that same level.

So he hadn’t considered it to be odd that she was gone from class all day. It was only when Daphne and Hermione failed to show up for their afternoon classes that he thought that something might be up. Thinking about it he realized that Blaise had gone missing around that time too.

Mm, seems like he missed out on something yesterday.

~MJB~

Meissa was not happy by the time lunch time came around - Daphne had gone completely stone cold to everyone, not just to her. It was disheartening trying to break through her friend’s walls to get to the heart of the issue.

She knows that it has something to do with the curse - she wasn’t sure if it was because Daphne felt guilty for leaving her alone to talk to her mother or if Blaise and her had struck a deal.

Both was a possibility in her opinion and she wasn’t sure which one she would prefer. She knows that if they had struck a deal she would have to respect it - even if she hates what they have agreed upon. If it was a guilt thing - she didn’t see this one being the lesser of two evils at all.

Either way she knew that she’d have to talk to her friend about this. They hadn’t gone through a whole year struggling to find a balance between themselves just for it all to go pear-shape in one day.

It was not acceptable in Meissa’s mind and she was not about to sit back and let it lie.

Her first instincts were to corner Daphne in a room and just talk things over with her - but she had a strong feeling that if she tried that this time around she would probably end up in a duel with the other girl.

The blonde was that cold to approach.

The only other idea she had was to approach Blaise and figure out what the hell is happening - if they had made a deal. It would also give her the opportunity to find out what she can do to repay Zabini the life debt she now owes him - even if it was his mother who had placed her in that situation in the first place.

And on top of all of that her magic still had that sick slimy feel to it - and there was an itch in the back of her mind - to do some more blood magic. To actually explore the limits of the branch. She knew that some forms of magic - of any branch that has the label Dark - had the potential of being addicting and luring the unsuspecting wizards and witches into the darkness that is Dark magic.

But she had not suspected that the blood runes she had used would be enough to trigger a thirst to learn more.

In hindsight she suppose that her family’s history of practicing Dark magic would have made her more susceptible to being drawn by it.

The things she realize after she has made her choices.

Glancing at the food she had picked for lunch she realizes that she wasn’t hungry - _again_ \- and left without taking a bite. She had not seen Blaise at the table and hazarded a guess that she would be able to find him in the library, studying.

As much as she wanted to talk to Daphne about things she thought it would be best to speak with Blaise and get an idea of what’s been happening since she was cursed.

Although she probably should see if she kept the ability to use her magic. So far the classes they’ve had that day required no spells so she had yet to embarrass herself in front of her peers. The added bonus of this that it meant she wasn’t likely going to expose a potential weakness of hers.

She considers for a moment which way she should head - she wanted to find Blaise as soon as possible but realized that if she was to get into a fight with anyone she would be defenseless. Because she wouldn’t know if her magical core has been damaged to the point where attempting any kind of magic would endanger not only herself but everyone around her.

With that thought she realized that she would be better off testing her magic in an empty room first before going to find Blaise.

With that course of plan in her mind she sets off to the second floor - she knew of a room that would be empty with most if not all, aside from her, present in the Great Hall for lunch.

~MJB~

Finding an empty room was not hard at all. But thinking of a spell that would not blow up in her face if her magic truly has been damaged turned out to be harder than she thought. She needed a spell that would not cause too much damage - to herself or to her surroundings.

She was tempted to do a simple levitation charm - the only reason why she hasn’t was because she couldn’t think of any possible backlash the spell would have if her magic was indeed damaged.

When nothing came to mind she settled for a spell that they had learned earlier on in class. “Spongify!” she snaps out, moving her wand in the correct motions as she intended to soften the seat of an old rickety chair.

Instead what happened was her magic backfiring on her, blasting her back at least two yard - not quite throwing her against a wall but it had came fairly close to it. Wincing at the sensation of having her magic rebound against her she shook her hand out, sliding her wand back into its sheath.

“So I still have it,” she mutters quietly to herself, wriggling her fingers to shake off the aftereffects of her failed spell. “I wonder if it’ll be safe to use my magic in a few days,” she thinks to herself, trying to determine the possibility of her magic.

She rubs her fingers across her knuckles, trying to dispel the lingering sense of magic in her hand.

“Right, I should go find Blaise,” she mumbles, trying to think of a way where she can avoid having this weakness of hers exposed. She doesn’t suspect that she’ll be needing any forms of magic in Potions - spells could have an adverse affect on the potions while they are being brewed. And it would be the last class of the day.

For the rest of the week she has no idea how she’ll avoid having her secret exposed. She’s aware that she has transfiguration, charms, and DADA.

She could probably get out of having to cast a spell in DADA - the professor was rather pathetic in her opinion. She couldn’t take him seriously due to his stutter.

But for Charms she knows that they were due to demonstrate a spell that they have been reviewing in class. And in Transfiguration they needed to transfigure a quill into a cup.

All of which required her to be able to use magic - magic she doesn’t seem to be able to use for the moment.

All she could think of is how interesting things promises to be for the rest of the week.

~MJB~

“Zabini.”

It had taken a bit longer than she had liked but she was able to find Blaise - just before they had to head down for Potions.

“Ah, Black, it’s good to see you back on your feet,” the dark skinned boy remarks with a laid-back grin. It was a kind of smile that that spoke volumes of his confidence.

He was fully aware of the fact that she owes him a twisted form of a life debt.

But unlike him she was aware of the fact that unless he actively seeks something specific from her she was free to do what she likes - and if he somehow benefited from it then the debt would be paid in full.

She’s not quite sure how she’ll do it but she’s determined to do it before the second year is up.

“Zabini, I have heard that Greengrass and Granger helped you prepare the potion that saved me,” she crossed her arms, sliding her emotions  away from her.

“You’ve heard right.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic so she decided to just dive into it. “What deal did you make with Greengrass in exchange for the cure?”

The slightest twitch in his eyes was her only indication that he had no idea what she was talking about.

Something else was at play here and he was not at fault.

No, that much she was able to comprehend.

“Is all not well between the two of you?” Blaise questions in a low drawl.

“Why would it be your concern?”

“At this point, Black, it’s a general consensus in the house that we do everything we humanely can to prevent Greengrass and you from having a falling out.”

She blinks in surprise. “Since when is my private business the business of the House?”

“Since the day you had five magical mishaps in one day when Greengrass was giving you the cold shoulder for a week.”

“I don’t think I -,” she tries to protest while struggling to recall this particular incident.

“The point is, Black, that the sooner we can get the two of you back together the sooner the whole house can breathe in relief.”

“You mean to tell me that the whole house get all weirded out when Greengrass and I are having a frost out?”

“Just about yeah,” Blaise remarks and she got the impression that it was a thing. An issue that the whole House has decided that they needed to handle as a whole.

“I… Does Draco know?”

“I think he’s the go to person when it seems like it’s an issue between you two.”

“I can’t tell if I should be annoyed that the whole of the House has decided that my private business is the business of the house.”

“As oppose to what?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she remarks before noting the time. “We best be headed to Potions.”

~MJB~

Meissa was among the first to finish their potions - but her potion was one of the few that was of the right consistency and coloring for when they were done.

Daphne had looked like she was a step behind her.

Normally they’d work side by side but like Meissa had suspected the other girl had chosen to sit away. She had actually chosen to sit away in the back where it was unlikely that someone could sabotage her work. Draco was sitting with her. And although his potion was a bit behind it had the right consistency.

She suspected that their godfather would’ve been severely disappointed if Draco had messed up a simple potion.

“Time’s up!” she hears Snape cut through the chatter. “Vials on my desk in two minutes!”

She makes up at least two vials that have been spelled to be unbreakable, pocketing the extra one in her robes. She might have a use for a vial of forgetfulness potion - Pansy has been a bit too quiet lately in her opinion. She doesn’t believe for a moment that the other Slytherin was going to stay quiet.

It was better to be prepared in her opinion.

She packs up her supplies and puts them away in her bag while setting the vial on the Potion Master’s desk.

“Miss Black, stay behind. We need to speak,” she hears Snape call before she could get away from the classroom. That, she knew, did not bode well for her at all.

 She glances after the departing students to find Daphne lingering at the door, her cold eyes narrowed briefly before their eyes met. Meissa watched the blonde’s eyes seem to warm before something shuttered over them and she was gone.

Before she could call her friend back the dungeon door shuts and she’s reminded that she’s not here for idle chats.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she turns and looks at her godfather.

“I have the paperwork you asked for,” he states simply, producing a thick stack of papers from a drawer, setting them on the desk before her. She nearly made to reach for them when she saw the serious look in his eyes. “I have put in the request for the signet ring to be found,” he tells her, “You are aware that if the magic on the ring does not accept you as the Lady of the Black estates it will kill you?”

“I am aware.”

“How would I be able to explain to your mother your death if it kills you?”

“Uncle Sevy, the best you can say is that you gave me advice not to do this and I did not heed them.”

He sighs softly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Somehow I suspect that would not appease her.”

“Perhaps not. But I think she would value the ability to chose,” Meissa remarks before she picks up the thick stack of papers.

“Sometimes I think you Romanized your mother.”

Meissa glances up while she was storing away the papers. “I know what mother is,” she mutters, threading her fingers through her wild mane. “The whole world can’t stop shoving that little fact into my face.” Snape frowns at the bitter tone in her voice. “But… I know I was loved, I know that. Despite everything they say about her.”

“Meissa…”

She shook her head - as if to shake away the cobwebs - and looks up at her godfather. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

“Try and have those done by the summer’s end. Until the signet ring is found I’m afraid there will not be much to be done since the estates may not accept you as the True Lady of the House without it.”

“Of course,” she inclines her head ever so slightly before she turned around to leave. She wanted to see if she could find Daphne before supper, talk to her about whatever it is that seems to be bothering her.

“Oh and Meissa,” she hears him call after her just before she could open the door. “The funeral for your Aunt Cassiopeia will be held this weekend.”

“Professor Dumbledore gave permission then?” she inquires, turning partially to look at him. 

“So long you keep up your grades in your classes he sees no issues.”

She nods in acceptance to these terms and left without another word.

~MJB~

“How can it be this hard to find one person?” Meissa groans softly to herself, huffing at her bangs, the thick strands flopping back onto her face to her irritation. She couldn’t help this thought that she should know where Daphne is - their practice at being in sync with each other apparently don’t give her an instant connection with the blonde.

It struck her odd that she’s known this person for nearly eight months and she doesn’t have an idea where she could find her when they’re having one of their out days? Apparently she needs to work on being a better friend to the blonde.

“She’s not in the library, Hermione says she hasn’t seen her there…” she mutters quietly to herself, thinking. “She wasn’t in the common room and it’s too early for supper…” She wondered for a moment if she could be at the training grounds, venting on the dummies. It was something she would’ve done and there’s a part of her that wondered if some of her tendencies may have rubbed off onto the other girl.

She doubted that Daphne would be hiding away at the Owlery - the tower was not cleaned often enough to even entertain the idea of being there longer than necessary. And as much as they were okay with working in the Greenhouses she knew that the houses were typically locked and warded against most spells that would be useful in unlocking doors. She doubted that Hermione with her all her smarts would be able to break into a Greenhouse.

Although she should probably refrain from mentioning her thoughts to the Gryffindor girl - she had a bit of suspicion that her words would be taken as a challenge. And she definitely did not want to encourage the other girl into doing something reckless - the boys seemed like they handled that aspect rather well, in her opinion.

“If I was Daphne,” she thinks out loud to herself, peering through a window, “And I did not wished to be disturb by anyone, especially someone whom I had considered to be a close friend...” She grimaces to herself and mentally corrects herself, ‘Someone I may have considered to be a friend.’ “The obvious thing would be to go to places where you’ve been known to frequent.”

It would explain why her godfather and Hermione always know where to find her by the Black Lake. When she needed to recollect her thoughts and her emotions she always retreated to the shores.

“The least obvious,” Meissa mutters, forcing herself to focus on finding Daphne and not pondering things like her godfather and Hermione, “would be to go some place where those searching for you would not think of…”

Meissa was fairly certain that Daphne was not close with the other Slytherins in their year or above. If she thought she had a anti-social personality then Daphne was nearly as bad as her - not worse though, she’s positive that no one could be worse than her in personality.

She was rubbing her wrist, thinking, when she realized that she hasn’t checked the lake - it was a perfect place for Daphne to hide out at. Not only would she be hard to find at such a huge lake it would literally be the last place anyone would think to look for the blonde Slytherin.

With a possibility in her mind she ran for the courtyard closest to the Great Hall - there was no other way to get to the Black Lake. There was the boathouse - it was situated right over the water and was supposedly popular with couples who wanted to snog uninterrupted. Except there was no way to get to the shores without using a boat, something all students were forbidden from doing.

She wouldn’t actually know if it was really a popular place for couples - but she has heard the complaints of some of the older Slytherins who would occasionally be busted by Filch for snogging in the boathouse.

 


	22. Rifts and Funerals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve noticed that folks has placed taking the dragonling up to the towel around May 9th/10th and that the current setting for my story is around May 1st, a few days after April 30th. So that means that our lil dragonling has flew the coop a week early

Meissa slowed to a jog when the shores of the lake finally came to view. To her right was the clearing where she tended to hide out at - the one Hermione and her godfather often found her at. To her left led to a path that would eventually circle around the entirety of the Great Lake.

She wanted to give her private spot a chance. But at the same time Daphne would have chosen a place that Meissa would know right off the top of her head. Unless…

It would be one of the few times where Meissa would want to curse herself for being unable to cast a simple spell without hurting herself. It made her wonder for just a second if this is what it is like for Squibs.

Muttering to herself she looks between the two paths and decided that she should check the right path first. If Daphne wasn’t to be found there then it would mean she’d have a long trek ahead of her.

A short walk later found Meissa standing at the edge of the clearing, looking at Daphne as she sat at the shore. She was absolutely still, the wind moving her hair the only sign of life in the blonde. It was oddly reassuring for her - like maybe a small part of her was wondering if she got cursed by the same thing.

“Daphne,” she walks over to her friend, sitting down next to her.

“Meissa.”

“Did you get hurt during Walpurgis Night?”

“No,” the blonde answered shortly.

“Are you angry that I was not careful?”

“We were all drunk on magic that night,” Daphne mutters quietly, refusing to look at Meissa.

The raven haired girl glances over at her friend, something clicking into place. “You’re upset that you left my side during the celebrations.”

“You’re being presumptuous.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“I have to deny that?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” the Black heiress mumbles. “I’m just worried.”

“It’s nothing first time we go a day without talking.”

“I thought we wanted to change that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Not at me. Maybe at yourself.”

“Would you stop doing that?” Daphne exclaims as she twists around to look at the raven haired girl. “I just - You nearly died! Zabini’s mother nearly killed you!”

“I know that.”

“I can’t even tell, Meissa! You’re not acting like someone who just escaped Death’s grasp!”

“How am I supposed to act, Daphne?!” Meissa snaps back, dark eyes narrowing at the blonde. “Just cause my mother was a Death Eater doesn’t mean that I know how to behave!”

They glared at each other for a long moment before Daphne cracks first, looking away towards the lake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…. I just hate that you were targeted in a place where we should’ve been safe.”

“Or as safe as we could have possibly been,” Meissa injects. The side glance the blonde shot the raven haired brunette told her that it was not appreciated. Even if it was true.

“You came back to Hogwarts after the Yule holidays, recovering from something you never told me about.” Meissa opened her mouth to remark that she could barely remember but refrained when Daphne waved her off with a tired sigh. “And when we should’ve been safe during Walpurgis Night you were targeted.”

“Daphne, where are you going with this?”

“I just… I don’t like that you’re getting hurt.”

“… It’s, I can’t possibly promise I won’t get hurt.”

“I know…  But it doesn’t possibly change how I feel about it.”

Meissa stares at her for a long moment, unsure of how to proceed. She didn’t want to leave Daphne to this state of mind - she knew it would do neither of them any good. Yet she knew that there was just no possible way for her to promise that she’d be safe for the rest of the year - she knew that because of who her mother is she’ll constantly be forced to deal with enemies. Not only that but there is also the addition that she had, in essence, taken it upon herself to watch after Harry Potter.

As much as she hated Potter before their first year she had to admit to herself that he had no control over the events that left both of them essentially orphaned. She knew that he had it worse than her - both of his parents were dead while one was locked away and the other was missing.

At least with her there was a chance of her ever encountering her mother - even if she’s to be in Azkaban for life.

“What do you propose we do?”

“Go on as we normally do?” Daphne mutters quietly.

“Before or after we decided to change how we deal with our reactions to things?”

“After.”

Meissa peers at her friend for a long moment before she stood up, dusting off her trousers. “Well, let’s go then.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, Daphne, let’s go on as we always do,” she states simply, holding her hand out for her friend.

Daphne smiled slightly at the raven-haired girl and with seemingly no effort from her friend, she was pulled up onto her feet. With a smile she held onto Meissa’s hand as they started walking back to the castle until she sensed that the other girl had reached her limit for touch and only then did she let go.

~MJB~

On Friday morning, only two days after Walpurgis Night, Meissa was studying her notes for Transfigurations when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Glancing up at the time she realized that it was just about time for people to start waking up and preparing for another day of school.

What she did not expect was for Draco to make an appearance, his hair not yet slicked back with gel.

“Morning,” she greets him from her corner of the common room. Her words startling her cousin from whatever he seemed to be thinking about.

“Meissa! What are you doing up at this hour?” he exclaims, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

“I’ve been up for hours, Draco. The question is, why are you up?”

“It’s nothing.”

“That’s a load of dragon dung if I ever heard one,” she remarks drily.

“Don’t you have something to do,” he tries to dismiss.

“Nice try, cousin.” She sets aside her notes and looked at him fully. “Just what do you plan on doing, mm?”

“I’m hurt that you would think that I am scheming to do something.”

“It’s something you would do,” Meissa retorts lightheartedly. “In fact, I would hazard a guess and say that you plan on doing something that would land Potter and his friends into trouble.”

Draco had nothing to say in response to that.

He didn’t have time to formulate a response anyway when the entryway to the common room opened up and Snape stepped in. He glanced over the room once before he located Meissa and Draco in a corner.

“Meissa,” he called once he found her, his hand withdrawing a small brown papered wrapped package from a pocket while the other produced his wand. With a gesture of his wand the small, palm sized package was returned to its usual size, which was large enough to take up the surface of the small table in the common room.

Meissa immediately recognized the package for what it was and went over to him. “This is more than usual,” she remarks after she had a chance to look inside. Inside was about two month’s worth of potions that she’s to be taking every day. As well as another month’s worth of her migraine potions. Which was fortunate considering that she was just about to run out.

“I will not have time to brew them next month with the exams taking place.”

She nods in acceptance to this news and sealed the package back up. “Is there anything else?” she inquires when she saw that he hadn’t taken his leave yet.

“You are to report to my office at six tomorrow morning and we will floo over to the Malfoy Manor. From there we will portkey to the funeral ceremony. I do not believe we will be back before nightfall so plan accordingly.”

“What about me?” Draco asks, “I mean, she was my aunt too.”

“Your mother has not secured permission for you to leave Hogwarts for the funeral. So you will have to remain here. She, however, did request that I pass along a message.”

“What is it?”

“She says, and I quote, ‘Dragon, use your time wisely and study for your year-end exams’.”

Draco turned beet red while Meissa was fighting off a bout of sniggers. She knew that he hated being called Dragon by anyone except his mother - even if the person using the nickname was relaying a message to him.

“You know where to find me if you have any questions,” Severus tells Meissa before he turns and left the common room. Just in time as Meissa could just make out the sounds of the other Slytherins getting ready for class.

“The nerve of her,” Draco grumbles as he sat down on the couch, ignoring the amused looks he was getting from his cousin. “Why didn’t she get permission for me to attend the funeral? We both attended Uncle Arcturus’ funeral, so why am I missing this one?”

“Do you honestly want to attend this one?” Meissa retorts, flicking a bang out of her face. “Cause, Draco, I didn’t get the impression you were looking forward to attending another ‘boring’ funeral of some relative you’ve never met.”

Draco doesn’t respond to that at all, choosing instead to go back to his dormitory for his things. Leaving Meissa alone in the room as she thought about the family tree.

She could just barely remember the family tree in 12 Grimmauld Place, the home of her Great Aunt Walburga. She was only five when her Aunt Walburga passed away and she was sent to live with her Godfather - despite the fact that he was in the middle of the first term and was by no means ready to care for a five years old child.

But what little she could remember of the tapestry was this one detail: seven scorches marred the tapestry that depicted the last six generations. Seven possible lines of heirs, removed from the tree for the actions of one person.

She couldn’t even fathom what happened even further back along the family line.

For all she knew there could be lost lines to the family, dismissed cause they didn’t fit the creed of the family.

She still didn’t understand why her grandfather told her to find her own meaning of the motto but for now she’s settled on it meaning that she needs to be honest to herself and to her beliefs. She’s seen what the family obsession with blood purity has done to them and wanted to change the family, bring the name Black back to the limelight.

The Black family needed to change. It’s come too far to die now.

~MJB~

Meissa stood in front of the mirror, tugging on her robes uncomfortably, trying to adjust it to no apparent success. She half wished that Friday had gone on forever if only to avoid the funeral that she had to attend soon.

The classes had gone by too fast in her opinion. And Draco looked far too excited about something after Ron had to go to the Hospital wing, his hand having swollen to twice its usual size. Meissa hadn’t spoken with the Gryffindors since Hermione helped Daphne with the potion but nothing she said indicated that they were involved in something dangerous.

Of course she hasn’t forgotten about the fact that Hagrid has a rapidly growing dragon in his _wooden_ cottage. If she had to bet any money she would say that Weasley has been bitten by the dragonling…

Oh.

“So that’s what got him all giddy,” Meissa mutters to herself, turning away from the mirror as she considered her cousin’s behavior.

“What are you going on about?” Daphne asks from where she was studying the various hair care potions she had set out on the counter. After she heard about the funeral she was to be attending she declared that it was time they tackled Meissa’s unruly mane. In the raven haired girl’s opinion it wasn’t _that_ unruly but she suppose that in comparison to the blonde’s sleek hair it was a bit unmanageable.

“Do you remember Draco being all excited about something just before our last class yesterday?” Meissa asks instead, “When Weasley left for the Hospital wing just before class.”

“Of course, Weasley’s hand looked horrible. But what does his hand has to do with your cousin?”

“I think… Draco knows something.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure but considering everything that has happened lately with the grounds keeper and Potter…”

“Oh right, he knows about the dragonling, right?”

“Mhm, stands to reason that whatever is wrong with Weasley has something to do with the dragonling which in turn,” Meissa starts, reasoning it out in a low voice, her eyes keeping a look out for eavesdroppers.

“Would make Draco excited cause it means he has evidence that they’re up to something,” Daphne concluded with a light laugh. “Should we do something?”

“No. I don’t want you getting into trouble without me around.”

“I can handle myself without you.”

“I know, but we’re friends. If one of us is going to get into trouble might as well bring the other.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t have been in Hufflepuff?”

Meissa huffed at the blonde, earning a light giggle from her.

“So we leave Draco and the Gryffindors alone today?” Daphne reconfirms as she selects a bottle from her selections. “Now, let’s get to work!”

The Black heiress sighs reluctantly and undid the ponytail she had put her hair in, her long hair falling onto her shoulders in thick curls. She still didn’t see a point in this…

~MJB~

Meissa nearly ran down the stairs with Daphne right on her heels, her wand in hand as she cast one last spell on the other girl’s hair. The loose ringlets, instead of settling into their usual tangled messes, sorts themselves into an elaborate hairstyle.

“See you when you get back!” Daphne calls after the girl just before the door slid to a shut behind her.

Meissa didn’t have time to say anything to her friend - the hair potions having taken longer than either of them expected to tame her hair and now she ran the risk of being late to her godfather’s office.

She just barely made it to his office before the clock struck six, though the unimpressed look he got from her godfather told her that next time she’d to be early to be considered on time.

As much as she hated her dress robes she would rather wear them instead of the gown she had on. In her mind a dress robe was the lesser of two evils - she’s never been one to wear a proper gown as a child and she really didn’t want to start now. However,  her aunt had been insistent about the matter and unfortunately her godfather had sided with her on it.

She was to wear a floor length gown with a lace up bodice over the gown. The sleeves of the dress nearly flowing past her hands - sufficiently shielding her wand and its holster from sight. Her traveling cloak clasped at the base of her neck - the fastenings modeled after the family’s crest - and shielded most of her outfit from a person’s gaze.

As appropriate for a funeral her gown and cloak were mostly black - the only coloring being the hint of red along her bodice. Matching the family’s crest and signifying to which Noble and Most Ancient House she belongs.

While Meissa was dressed properly as a girl, Severus was wearing his usual dress robes - a form fitting, long sleeved, black button up coat with matching pants with his usual white button up shirt underneath the coat along with his long floor length robes. She actually envied him some for no one would expect him to wear a gown - then again the mental image of him in one… it was a bit disturbing for the eleven year old to even envision this so she cast it out of her mind.

“Come, we are due to arrive at the Malfoy Manor,” she hears him snap, snatching her out of her thoughts with his words. She looks up to find that he was holding the tin that held the floo powder out to her and took a pinch.

She tosses the power into the fireplace before stepping into the green flames as she proclaimed, as clear as day, “MALFOY MANOR!”

~MJB~

Meissa stares blankly at the casket that held her Great Grand Aunt. The ceremony was finally over, the spells cast, and now all was left was to place her in the crypt with the rest of the Black family. The entrance kept safe within the ancient home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was a task taken care of by her Aunt Cissy but with her intention to take on the responsibilities of the House, Meissa had - upon being informed of their aunt’s death - requested she accompany her aunt in the task.

It had taken some time to persuade her aunt but she had managed and for the first time in recent memory she accompanied her aunt to the ancestral manor of the House of Black.

It was fairly large and calling it a manor was actually inadequate. It was honestly similar to a castle but nothing as extravagant as Hogwarts’ castle. While Hogwarts’ castle had many floors, towers, and attached courts, the Black Castle - as it was titled by an ancestor - is strongly built and layered with protection spells, wards, and traps to resist an invasion of both wizard kind and muggles.

The castle had two lines of defense. The outer ward and the inner ward. The first line was of twelve towers built in at strategic points to provide a view in every direction and two gatehouses. The second line was a similar wall that instead had six massive towers and two large D-shaped gatehouses. In between the two wards were, from what little she could recall from her one visit back when she was five, lavish gardens tended to by a host of house elves.

Within the last line of defense was the castle’s hall and Keep itself.

Meissa was never quite sure if the Keep is where the family was expected to live or the Hall. It all got a bit confusing in her mind but she understood that once past the inner ward and the traps, they would be within the very center of the Black Castle.

“Meissa, don’t dawdle,” she hears her aunt calls back to her, having apparently gone ahead of her while Meissa was looking around at the gardens - filled with all sorts of plants, mundane and magical. “I don’t want the wards to identify you as an intruder,” Narcissa continued as she made her way to the Keep’s double doors, leaving Meissa to catch up with her.

“Don’t the wards have blood identifiers?” Meissa inquires, hurrying up.

“They do but accidents have been known to happen,” Narcissa explains. “The wards are old, going back at least four to five centuries ago.”

Meissa looks at her aunt, thinking quickly, “So that means that the blood identifiers needs to be updated if they’re that old.”

“I would not trouble much with it - the spells have fallen into disuse since the mid-1800s. I doubt there is a text out there that has them.”

Meissa believed her on that aspect, but the blood wards still needed to be updated and modified to prevent anyone who is remotely related to the Blacks through relatives from being able to access a property. She mentally puts it down as one of the things she’ll need to do once she gain access to the financial records.

Refreshing the wards on all the properties seem like a priority to her. Although making sure that everything was all sorted would take some time in her opinion. A House as old as the Blacks was bound to have more than a handful estates and vaults - that was another thing she needed to check on.

She vaguely remembers someone talking about a vault being set up for the members of the Black family. She also remembers that if the member in question marries into another family that the children of this person would be able to access the vault. So she wonders if the family in question would still be able to access that particular vault despite the fact that the owner and their children are dead.

She’d be extremely annoyed if she discovered that the families - like the Bulstrode or even the Rosier, especially the Rosiers - still have access to vaults that should have been closed the moment the children have passed away. She has heard about what an Evan Rosier did as a Death Eater and she was vaguely sure that he was related to her family in some way - the idea of money from a Black vault funding Rosier’s activities was sickening. It almost seem to make her mother seem tame in comparison.

She knew that her mother favored using the torture curse, Crucio, but Evan Rosier - from what she had read of the war - was fond of a curse that would boil the victim’s blood within their bodies. That was a fate far worse than a Crucio. The torture curse was mostly mental and, in comparison to the blood boil curse, merciful.

“Meissa,” she hears an exasperated voice call out, snapping her out of her thoughts. She barely has time to look around as she raced to catch up with her aunt once again, ignoring the open space that was the inner ward. The imposing Keep that sat in the middle of the inner ward had a distinctive gothic architecture to it, with its’ pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses.

“Aunt Cissy,” Meissa starts once she was walking side by side with her, “What are those?” She points up towards the statues she had seen.

“Gargoyles,” Narcissa answers with barely a glance at them. “One of our ancestors believed it would do us good to have gargoyles to protect our ancestral home.”

“Wait, I thought they were simply statues that gained intelligence from a spell?”

“Those are imitations. The proper gargoyles, like the ones we have, has been our guardians since the days before Hogwarts.” Meissa looks up towards them in awe. “For the moment you cannot talk to them - they are stone by day and our guardians by night.”

“Wow,” the young heiress mutters. “Will I ever get a chance to talk to one of them?”

“…It will depend on when we finish the ritual.”

Meissa nods her head once to show that she understood and off they went, the doors to the Keep opening upon their approach, signifying that the blood wards recognized and accepted them as legitimate members of the Black family. Her aunt steps into the Keep first, the simplistic stone casket following after her with a gesture of her wand, and Meissa trails along behind her.

Wide eyes taking in the sights of her ancestral home. The inside of the Keep, from the look of the Entrance Hall, seems to consist of stone. The walls and flooring done in a dark coloring - black obsidian if she had to hazard a guess. Portraits decorated the Hall, starting by the doors of the Keep and spanning further into the building. A glance at the nearest one told her a few things: 1) they were not magicked into moving, 2) the family seemed to have black hair and equally black eyes even in the earliest days.

Each of the portraits were interesting and underneath them was a plaque, each one identifying the person within the portraits. Sometimes there were more than one person within a painting, some looked like siblings while some looks like a couple.

But mostly the portraits consisted of a person and she could hazard a guess that the person in question was the head of the family for that particular generation.

“Keep up Meissa,” Narcissa called back to her, “I don’t want the Keep’s guardian to mistake you for an intruder.”

“There’s more than one guardian?” the girl asks as she glances down a darkened corridor. Either her eyes were playing tricks on her or there was something in the shadows. With an ominous feeling building inside her she hurries after her aunt, deciding that it wasn’t worth discovering what lurks in the darkness of the Keep.

She followed her aunt down to the other end of the Entrance Hall where a door sat in the corner, seemingly tucked away. As she stood off to the side she watched her aunt wave her wand a few times, in an elaborate pattern she knew she had no hopes of recalling later, and saw a complex set of runes appear on the dark ebony wood. While she had some experience with the modern, ancient, and family versions of the runes she knew from a glance that there was no way she would be able to discern the meaning of them with what little she knew.

Not only was it not enough time for her to get the full meaning of the set there was a distinctive feeling in the back of her mind that the family runes were only a small piece of the puzzle. She wasn’t sure what else she needed to know if she wanted to solve it but that was the gut feeling she had about it.

It was a heptagon with seven sets of runes at each corner. Within the heptagon sat a large complex set of runes that had started glowing white the moment of its’ appearance.

While she was pondering this her aunt Narcissa had reached out with her wand and tapped the seven corners of the rune. As she looks on the set of runes began to twist and turn. With each click a set fell into place and the complex runes in the center began to dim.

When all seven sets had finally settled the glow was gone and there was an audible click of the door unlocking.

“That’s a complex lock,” she remarks drily, finally realizing what it was meant to do.

“Our ancestors was the one who found our ancestral home. They were the one who started this tradition,” Narcissa explains as the door swung open, finally granting them access. “Each generation has been tasked with learning how to unlock the crypt so that it may never disappear should something unforeseeable should happen.”

“So… I take it that I’ll be learning that soon?”

“You and your cousin Draco if I had my way.”

Meissa doesn’t say anything in response to that - knowing that so long he was a Malfoy heir he would never learn the secrets of the Black family. Such was the laws of the family.

She followed her aunt down into the crypt, the torches lighting up as they made their descent into the depths of the family’s past.

The first landing opened up to a fairly large room, with only one coffin resting in the exact middle of the space with various items scattered about. In each corner sat a torch, casting the bare minimum of light across the room. “Who’s this?” she asks in curiosity.

“No one in recent memories know. They can only speculate that whoever it is, they were very important to the family in the ancient days,” Narcissa answers, her wand casting a light across a nameless plaque. But it did have something inscribed that read as: ‘Child born out of time - call to one who does not answer -.’ The rest looked like it has been rubbed away.

“That’s an odd line,” she comments. “What does it mean, ‘born out of time’?”

“Perhaps they were born too early or too late?”

Meissa frowns thoughtfully at the coffin - why had it been alone? And why such an odd phrase? Unfortunately she couldn’t ponder about this for too long for her aunt was already moving down the next flight of stairs, going deeper into the belly of the earth.

 


	23. The Fun Never Ends

Deeper and deeper they went until Meissa lost count of how many floors there were and had a dull ache in her legs - only then did they arrive at the bottom - the latest floor to be added to the crypt. This floor was only half filled and she saw that it held most of her great-grandfather’s generation and some of her grandfather’s.

A floor meant for the latest generation and her heart broke, realizing what it meant.

One day she’d be laying her mother in this tomb. Her aunt. Her cousin. One day she’d be in this tomb as well.

Or she could rot out there away from all of this if there is not a generation to come.

It was all terrifying, realizing that one day she’d be joining the dead of her family. Offering her body up to the magic that protects the family.

“There we go,” Narcissa whispers as she waved her wand, the casket settling into a little slot right next to another. Meissa could only reckon that her uncle laid in that one. And somewhere in this room her Grandfather Pollux was in here too.

Except, it wasn’t really him, was it?

“We’ll be joining them one day,” Meissa mutters quietly, looking around.

Narcissa glances at her niece at her words, having not expected her to say anything after falling quiet in the trek down the stairs. “Hopefully that will not be for a long time,” the blonde woman remarks. “And I hope your mother never sees a day where she buries you before her time,” she adds in while offering Meissa her hand, smiling slightly when the eleven year old took and held onto her hand tightly. “I don’t think your mother would survive it if she had to bury you.”

“Really?” she hears Meissa ask softly, her voice heartbreaking to listen to. It was a sharp reminder that Meissa hasn’t been held by her mother since she was a year old.

“She loved you dearly, Meissa. Her little star in the darkness,” Narcissa reconfirms for her as they started the walk back up the stairs. “You were an impossible one - an unexpected gift.”

“Would she be proud of me?”

“I don’t think she would ever disapprove of you - so long you were true to yourself.”

She felt Meissa’s hand tighten around hers and knew that her niece would need more time to believe that. It was moments like these that Narcissa saw the small insecure girl underneath the fierce protective girl.

It was these moments that made her wonder if her sister would disapprove of the way her daughter had been raised - of the things that had occurred. If she’d done something or realized the signs long before either of them had.

Narcissa remembered that time very well. It had only just been a few short years ago. A time when everything seemed normal until one particularly frightening day. After that everything she knew was gone, shaken by its foundations.

Meissa was no longer that sweet innocent child after that day.

It made Narcissa sick to her stomach, living with the knowledge that she failed her sister. And sometimes, when she looks into the eyes of her niece, she’s forced to remember that Meissa is the one who is suffering the most.

Draco probably will never understand how his cousin became like this. And Narcissa’s not sure if she ever wants him to understand. Meissa barely even speaks of that day - Narcissa wasn’t even sure if she was actually processing everything or just burying it somewhere deep. From what little Severus has told her Meissa was not improving at all. It was a bit alarming, realizing that her niece has spent the last few years worsening.

“Aunt Cissy?”

“Yes?”

Meissa looks up at her, “Why doesn’t anyone live here anymore?”

“No one wants to deal with the various wards that comes with living here,” Narcissa answered simply. “The entire estate is protected by wards that are centuries old. No one alive knows what has been applied to the estates and the process to allow guests in temporarily was not worth it to our more recent ancestors.”

“So they bought the Black Manor?”

“Yes.”

“But…” Narcissa looks at her encouragingly, curious about what her niece is going to bring up. “Wasn’t grandfather and grandmother killed in the Black Manor?”

Narcissa’s eyebrows furrowing was the only sign of Meissa’s words registering. It had been true that her parents, Meissa’s grandparents, had been killed within the supposed safety of the Black Manor.

By their eldest daughter’s hands no less.

She wasn’t too sure if her niece knew about that fact. She wasn’t even sure how Meissa knew about her grandparents dying in the very home she lives in with her godfather.

“How did you know about that?” Narcissa asked instead of answering - even if the question indirectly answered the question.

“The paintings really like to talk,” she deadpans.

“Severus hasn’t mentioned anything like this to me.”

“They don’t talk when he’s around,” she remarks drily. “They say that he’s an outsider, even if he’s my godfather.”

“Ah.” It must have been one of the paintings of a recent ancestor.  “What else do they say?”

“Mm… they say a lot of things,” Meissa answered vaguely. “I can tell they get really lonely cause of how much they talk. They’re always telling me about what kind of girl I should be and what the family will expect of me.” A frown appeared on the young girl’s face. “There’s a lot of expectations for being a member of the Black family.”

“Yes, there is,” she agrees, recalling her own childhood. She also recalled the emptiness that seemed to reside in her father’s heart - he may have been caring and loving towards herself but in hindsight she realized he had not cared one wit about his eldest daughter or even his second eldest.

Andromeda had been a very studious girl growing up, kind and caring to just about anyone. Bella had always been a bit of a rebel in the family - as wild as her own daughter now that Narcissa considers it. They used to get along so well growing up - sure, Bella may had her moments of darkness and Andromeda may have been filled with concern for just about everything. Still, Narcissa thought that they would always be together, sisters forever.

“Aunt Cissy?” she hears Meissa’s voice call her out of her thoughts. “That wasn’t there before.”

The exact words took a second to register for the woman but once it clicked she looked sharply ahead of them - how did she miss the fact that they had managed to scale all the way to the top of the stairs?

What she saw worried her instantly - the Keep’s Guardian has been awoken.

~MJB~

Meissa had been glancing into the rooms as they spoke about the family. And had incidentally been leading her Aunt up the stairs when it became clear to her that she was distracted with thoughts about something. It wasn’t until they had reached the first landing that she realized something was up.

She just didn’t expect to see a large armored _something_ standing in the middle of the hallway outside the still open door.

That was when she called her Aunt out of her thoughts.

“That’s the Keep’s Guardian,” she hears her whisper, the Lumos spell extinguished with a flick of her wrist. “I don’t know why he’d be awake now…”

“What would waken him?”

“Intruders, personal curiosity,” Narcissa listed the two that popped up into her mind.

“Personal curiosity?” the young Slytherin repeated.

“Yes,” the blonde whispers, “the Guardian is the only one who lives here now - I doubt the gargoyles keep him much company with the Black family gone.”

“Do you think he’s interested in us because we’re here?” Meissa asks, curious.

“I don’t see why,” Narcissa answers, “this is not my first visit here.”

“But it’s mine,” Meissa points out. Narcissa had to agree with her niece on this matter but if Meissa’s presence is the reason for the Keep’s Guardian’s awakening then she dreads to find out what he would do.

_“Child,”_ they hear an eerie, echoing, voice - snapping them out of the whispering to look at the fully armored spirit standing in the hall.

Narcissa was dismayed to see that the Guardian was positioned just right to prevent an easy escape from the stairwell.

“Me?” Meissa looked at the armored spirit.

_“Long awaited child, prophesied by the one who does not answer,”_ the guardian intoned, its’ voice almost monotonous if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of excitement. It was like they’ve been waiting for the prophesied child. _“The time draws near,”_ the spirit continues, unheedful of the confused and puzzled looks he was receiving from the pair. _“The time to summon the willful one. Return to the Keep when it is time.”_

“Uh… okay?”

As if satisfied with her response the spirit turned and disappeared through a wall and the previously solid looking armor went along with it.

Meissa looked up at her aunt who was giving her a disbelieving look. “Things are rarely ever simple with you,” the Malfoy matriarch remarked, getting a sheepish look from her niece.

It would figure that the girl’s first visit to the Keep would result in her being recognized in some kind of prophecy.

“I wonder who spoke the prophecy,” she looked at her niece.

“Would there be a record of it?”

“It’s likely, if someone was there to record it.”

“Where could we go to look?”

“Mm… I’ll ask about that,” Narcissa decides before escorting her niece through the Keep. She did not wish to tempt the spirit’s seeming patience with them.

There will be no time to visit the gargoyles - it was a pity, she thought Meissa would be interested in meeting the Chief of the gargoyles. Swiftclaw was the leader of the Gargoyles - had been for over two hundreds if what her grandfather told her is true - and was likely one of the most intelligent gargoyle among the clan.

“It’s time for you to be getting back to Hogwarts.”

“Aw…” Meissa muttered, glancing up towards the roof where she had originally seen the gargoyle statues. The sun was starting to set but there was still lights out - just enough for her to see the various gargoyles perched along the nooks and crannies of the Keep. Some looked like they were bipedal, standing proudly on legs that sort of reminded her of dogs - if she had to think about it like that. She couldn’t really see them that well and her aunt was trying to usher her quickly to the portkey’s location.

Still, she thought they were really formidable, with their wings stretched out as if they had turned to stone while roaring.

She really hoped she gets a chance to talk with them one day.

~MJB~

Meissa sighed as she stepped through the fireplace, immediately dusting off her traveling cloak to rid herself of the ashes before she bothers to remove the cloak from her shoulders. As amazing as the Black Castle had been she felt exhausted and she had hundreds of questioning running through her head.

Who was the ‘one who does not answer’ and why is it important that she - if she was the child born out of time - called upon them? For that matter, why is she born out of time? Was she destined to die young? Or maybe it was talking about her being born premature? Was she born premature?

She had to stop thinking about that in order to keep her mind from exploding from the thoughts.

“Meissa,” she heard her godfather before he appeared through the doorway leading to his private chambers.

“Uncle Sevy,” she greeted as she hung her traveling cloak up on the hook by the fireplace.

“I’d ask how the ritual went but seeing that you are back hours after you were supposed to return I take it that things did not go well.”

“Actually,” Meissa picked up her skirts to keep them from dragging along the floor - and from tripping her up, “it went well enough. I got to see part of the Keep and some of its guardians.”

Severus arched an eyebrow at her. He had heard about the Black Castle - the resting place of all members of the House of Black, unless they were disowned - and some of the more commonly known aspects of the ancestral home of the House. He knew that he had no hopes of ever seeing the Black Castle, even if he was Meissa’s legal and magical guardian he knew that he would never see the inside of the castle. “How was it?” he finally asked.

“It’s… really beautiful,” she confessed with a half-smile. “The gardens are absolutely amazing,” she gushed. “There’s both kinds of plants there! Magical and non-magical! And because no one has been there to keep the gardens they look like jungles!”

“You seem to have enjoyed your first time.”

“Yeah,” Meissa agreed with a smile, a true genuine smile. It quickly disappeared but Snape knew that she must have been truly happy there. She’s never been one to display any emotions - that is, any positive emotions like happiness. Anger and hatred she had no problems showing.

“I should probably head to the common room,” she headed for the door, intending to leave through the hallway. It didn’t seem like her godfather had anything to say to her.

“Wait.” She turns to look at him. “Are you still taking your potions?”

“Uh…” she turned her gaze away - trying to remember when was the last time she had taken her potions. It seemed so long ago…

“Meissa…” Severus started in a warning tone.

She ducks her head slightly, looking every bit the child that knows she’d be told off for something. “I know, Uncle Sevy,” she mutters, “but last week was…”

“Chaotic,” he concluded for her, realizing that he should have been more proactive in ensuring her safety. He dreaded the thought of having to face her mother and explain to her why he had not been able to prevent certain injuries from occurring.

There was a lot he would need to explain to Meissa’s mother when the time comes - a prospect he will never be willing to entertain.

One thing for sure, he had a distinct feeling that it is too late to try and salvage this year’s potion regime. Which would mean that she’d have to start from the beginning - again. He hadn’t been able to salvage the previous regime - which meant that Meissa had to start over from the beginning, a full month into her first year in Hogwarts. He was mildly grateful that due to being on the potions already meant that it didn’t take too long for the potions to bring Meissa’s unstable emotions to a more manageable level.

The first time she ever took the potions it took half a month for the potions to start working for the nine year old. Eight and a half months of increasingly worsening rages - and the time she spent locked up in her room out of shame for her actions - led the Potion Master to create a series of potions for the girl.

There was a large part of him that worried that perhaps the potions weren’t the best way to help her with her destructive moods but he hadn’t known what else he could do. Going to St. Mungo had been out of the question since the he and the Malfoy family did not trust any Healers well enough to believe that they would stay impartial while treating a child of a Death Eater.

“Uncle Sevy?” he hears his goddaughter.

“Yes?”

“… I’m going to have to restart my potions again, aren’t I?”

“I’m afraid so.” He watched her face falls, her shoulders slumping as she accepted his words.

“I just… I want it to be over,” he hears her whisper, averting her gaze from him.

“I know…” He studies her for a moment before he considers something.

He and Narcissa had been the ones in charge of making sure that she was taking her potions. He’s not even sure if Draco knew of the importance of them - his goddaughter has been seen taking a variety of potions over the years, the migraine potions possibly being the most frequent and consistent of them all.

Yet he wondered if it would do Meissa some good if she had someone…

“Have you considered asking Greengrass for help?” he inquired, looking at her. When he sees her blinking owlishly at him he knew that she had not.

“Why would-?”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but Greengrass cares for you,” he injects.

“Yes…”

“Do you trust her?”

“Of course!” the young Black heiress declared without a shred of hesitation.

“Then perhaps consider informing her of your regime. I have no doubt in my mind that she would volunteer to help make sure you take your potions.”

Meissa looks at him wide eyed before she smiled brightly. “Okay Uncle Sevy!” she declared before she gave him a brief - he doubted it was more than a second - hug before dashing out of the room.

He shakes his head in amusement before he turned to prepare for bed.

~MJB~

Meissa bounced on the balls of her feet, looking back and forth as she searched for Hermione. Daphne was waiting patiently besides her, curious about what had the Black heiress anxious. She knew that Meissa had been given permission to leave campus to attend to her Great Grand Aunt’s funeral. Had been escorted by their Head of House but beyond that Daphne knew nothing about what had happened while the heiress was outside of school grounds.

She had been almost giddy when she shown up in the dorms, just after curfew, but refused to tell her why and promised that she would tell her when they find Hermione.

“Daphne,” Meissa muttered as she turned her head this way and that way, “Do you see Hermione?”

“Mm… no, not at all,” she answered, doing a quick scan through the Great Hall. “In fact, I don’t think I see the boys either.”

“Odd,” Meissa muttered, searching the Hall.

“Meissa,” Daphne called her friend’s attention, noticing for the first time that a large amount of points was missing from the Gryffindor hourglass. “What did the Gyffindors do to lose so many points?”

“How should I know? I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“…”

The girls looked at each other before going to search for Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

It didn’t take them long to find the trio - the whispers and loud insults were a pretty good indicator of where the ‘Golden Boy’ would be. Meissa paused once she found an upperclassman who gleefully filled them in.

It was known that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger was caught at the stairs of the tallest astronomy tower and that Neville Longbottom was found out of bed - Meissa was a bit curious as to why the nervous boy was breaking the rules willingly - and lost a hundred fifty points in the span of one night.

“It would be perfect,” the upperclassman remarks, “If Malfoy hadn’t lost us some points last night.”

“Wait, what?” the two girls injected, this being the first time they heard of this.

“Yeah. Apparently Malfoy was out of bed last night and was caught by Professor McGonagall. She took twenty points from him or something like that. Granted it’s not as bad as the Gryffindor’s loss.”

“Did he get punished too?” Meissa asked, planning as she was going to teach her cousin a lesson for breaking the rules.

“Yup. Was taken to Professor Snape last night. I don’t know what he got for detention though.”

“Oh,” Meissa sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m going to hex the bloody hell out of him when I find him,” she muttered softly. 

“Meissa,” Daphne caught her attention, pointing out the three Gryffindors they were looking for.

“Right,” the Black heiress muttered, excusing herself from the upperclassman’s presence to go over to them. She grabs Hermione by the elbow and pulled her out of the crowd, leaving Harry and Ron to follow them - which she was sure they would since they weren’t likely to leave a fellow Gryffindor alone in the presence of a ‘snake’.

“What the bloody hell happened last night?” she all but hissed to the three Gryffindors.

“We took Norbert to the tower,” Hermione whispered, casting a look around. “On the way back Filch found us and took us to Professor McGonagall.”

“Last night?!” she all but shouted.

“Meissa,” Daphne injected, trying to keep the heiress from ranting at the Gryffindors. “We heard that Neville was caught too - how did he get mixed up in that?”

“He overheard Malfoy talking about busting us and exposing Norbert,” Harry answered with a grimace. “McGonagall thought that we were spreading lies to get Malfoy in trouble…”

“And because Longbottom overheard she thinks that you’re to blame for him being out of bed as well?” Meissa concluded.

“Poor Neville,” Hermione frowned. “He meant well but now he must think the worse of us.”

“How did Draco even know about you taking Norbert up to the tower?” Daphne asked. “We didn’t even know and we’re involved.”

“It probably has to do with what happened on Friday,” Meissa reminded her friend. “Remember? We thought that he seemed too gleeful.”

“Oh,” Daphne muttered in remembrance. She had been a bit distracted with fixing up Meissa’s hair at the time but she remembered.

“Malfoy took one of my books,” Ron grumbled angrily, “It had a letter from Charlie - with the time and place.”

The two Slytherins stared dumbly at Ron before looking at the other two Gryffindors. “You left.. a letter with the time and place of a meeting in a bloody book?” Meissa hissed at them. “You knew he had this information and you still went out to send Norbert away?!”

“There was no time to reschedule!” Hermione defended.

“Unbelievable,” the Black heiress muttered.

“So do you have detention?” Daphne asked while Meissa was muttering under her breath.

“Yes,” Harry and Hermione answered miserably.

“But we don’t know what we’re doing,” Hermione elaborated.

“You’re fortunate it’s not with me,” Meissa grumbled. “The two of you acted recklessly!”

“Meissa,” Daphne tried to shush her, avoiding a few terms that she knew would cause her to explode in anger. “I know you’re upset but it can’t be helped now.”

“Next time,” Meissa narrows her eyes at the trio, “don’t do something this rash without involving Daphne or me.” The blonde and redhead protested to this - the action causing both of them to look horrified by their apparent agreement.

“Why do you want to be involved in any rule breaking?” Harry questioned.

“Someone has to keep a collected mind among you boys,” Meissa remarked coolly. “Apparently Hermione isn’t enough to keep you from doing something foolish.”

“Meissa,” Hermione frowned at the raven haired girl, thinking that she was being too harsh with her words.

“Why should we trust you?” Harry all but growled.

“Considering that we have been keeping all of your secrets to ourselves, I think Meissa and I have already proven ourselves trustworthy,” Daphne injected, narrowing her eyes at the bespectacled boy. “We gain nothing from outing you to the professors.”

“Harry,” Hermione looked at him, “I trust Meissa and… Daphne has proven herself to me. I don’t think they have any hidden agenda. I mean, they’ve been helping us with this whole mystery with the… you know what.”

Harry frowned before he looked at Ron who was obviously against having the two Slytherins join them in any future plans - whatever they may be.

“If we do anything,” Harry started slowly, thinking. “We will attempt to contact you…”

“You can do better than that,” Meissa narrowed her eyes at him.

“If we have to move quickly then we can’t afford to waste time looking for you.”

Daphne and Meissa looked at each other, thinking about this. “If we give you a way to contact us almost instantly, would you use it?” the heiress questioned with a slight tilt of her head.

“If we had a way, then yes,” Hermione answered for Harry - afraid that he would still turn this down.

Meissa stayed quiet, thinking before she turns and left them, with Daphne quickly following after her to avoid being left with the Gryffindors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm curious, by this point I think you'd have a good idea of who Meissa is. So, whom do you think Meissa will be romantically be interested in (by the time she reaches the age of 14)


	24. Trust and Requests

Harry had become public enemy number one in the days following the hundred fifty points loss. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were upset with him - Meissa would have been impressed that he managed to turn the Hufflepuffs against him if it wasn't for the fact that she was curious by Harry and Hermione's recklessness.

Harry she would have understood but Hermione should have known better. Meissa knows that Hermione is a brilliant witch - yet she didn't use her intelligence when she followed along with Harry's plan to take Norbert up to the tower.

That was the only thing that bothered the raven haired girl - the thought that Hermione hadn't considered that plan though.

But with the finals coming up soon Meissa couldn't spare the situation any further thought. Although she did hex her cousin to the point of submission. She made it very clear that he had been very idiotic in his attempt to get Harry into trouble.

"Meissa," she hears her cousin mutter, prompting her to look up from her notes that she had been reviewing for transfiguration.

"Draco."

The blonde looks a little irritated due to the fact that she was still speaking in a cold tone towards him.

"Look… I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you upset," he starts only for her to narrow her eyes at him.

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," she remarks.

"How can I when you won't even tell me!" he protests.

"Let's see, how about the fact that you foolishly ran off to try and bust Potter," she started. "Didn't even consider of a way to get him caught without exposing yourself. No you wanted to do it front and center."

"But he was doing something illegal!"

"Illegal or not," she cuts in, "You're a Slytherin. What does being a Slytherin mean for you," she glares at him.

"Resourcefulness," Draco listed right off the bat, "Determination. Cunning."

"Where was your use of cunning, cousin of mine," Meissa almost sneered.

Draco winced, realizing that she was not in the mood to be debating what he did or did not do. He knows that Meissa does not always care about a lot of things - but it would seem that his rash decision to try and bust Potter on his own, after hours, has angered his cousin more than his constant remarks towards Potter.

It was getting to a point where it was not worth his time to bother the Gryffindor if it meant dealing with her anger.

"I acknowledge that I have done wrong," he admits softly.

Meissa studies him for a long moment before sighing. "Dray, do you remember that I made a deal with Potter?"

"Before you knew of his last name?" he questioned - recalling that she had been very irritated for a week or so after the sorting. She didn't tell him much about why she had been irritated but he had hazarded that it had something to do with Potter. He remembered, before they got their acceptance letters, that she had blamed the boy-who-lived and he-who-must-not-be-named for her broken family.

"Yes."

"What of it?"

"Every time you butt heads with Potter you make it harder for me to keep my deal with him and not do something to you," she answered simply.

"You'd uphold a deal with Potter over me?"

"Draco, you are my cousin and I will love you always - but I value keeping my promises, my honor, just as much as I value my family."

The blonde looks at her for a long moment before considering which was more important to him. Defending his slighted honor - which had mostly been done by the red head - or incur the wrath of his cousin and his mother?

"I will make an effort to not provoke the Gryffindors."

"Until the end of the year or for good?"

"Let's take it one day at the time," he concluded before excusing himself from her presence. He needed to figure out how he was going to change his manners towards the Gryffindors in order to keep his pledge to himself and to his cousin.

Because facing the wrath of his cousin and mother - separately or together - was something he did not want to deal with, ever.

~MJB~

Meissa was sitting outside, staring gloomily at a vial when she sensed the approach of someone. As she looked towards the person she slipped the vial into her robe's pocket, half-heartedly smiling at Hermione.

She had noticed that the other girl had taken to fading into the background - reducing how often she answered the professors' questions. She hasn't been watching Hermione much - focused as she was on her studies - but thought that Hermione was experiencing an impact from that night.

A lot of the other students were still talking badly about the three Gryffindors after they lost over a hundred points in one go. While Meissa could understand why the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were upset about it, it was starting to get on her nerves. Twice she felt like hexing someone because they were talking badly about Hermione and it took Daphne and Draco combined efforts to drag her away from the situation.

"Meissa," Hermione greeted softly, shuffling slightly as she avoided meeting Meissa's eyes.

"'Mione," she returned. "Have a seat."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm not exactly…"

"I'm aware of your newfound infamy," Meissa remarked as she tilted her head at her friend. "You are my friend - regardless of how angry or disappointed I can get with you."

They looked at each other for a long moment before Hermione finally sat down next to the raven haired girl, their shoulders just barely brushing against each other. It was just enough so that Hermione could feel the contact she was craving while at the same time just barely noticeable to keep Meissa from wanting to run for the hills.

It was a delicate mix of contact to satisfy the both of them.

"I don't think I've mentioned that… I'm sorry," Hermione mutters quietly. "You were right - Harry and I didn't think. Ron shouldn't have put that letter in his books but I shouldn't have let Harry convince me that it would be a good idea to carry Norbert up to the tower, just us two."

"It's in the past now," Meissa finally says after thinking. "We cannot go back and change it." She looks at the other girl and smiled slightly. "So…"

"So…?"

"Are you ready for the exams?" she asks, curious.

"I don't know," Hermione confesses softly. "There's so much to remember…"

"I'm sure you will get O's on all of your exams," Meissa reassures her.

"What about you?" Hermione asks, curious. "How are you doing on your studying?"

"Mm… My potion work is good. Charms - I don't think I've ever had issues with my spellwork in that class. Defense against the Dark Arts - well, I will admit that I enjoy that class a bit too much, even if the professor is rubbish. History…" Meissa made a face - that Ghost really needed to move on in her opinion. She was better off reading from the books. "Well, I'll be reviewing the books for that class."

"What about Astronomy, Herbology, and Transfiguration?"

"Astronomy is easy," Meissa basically dismissed. "Aunt Cissy and I used to stargaze a lot when I was younger. Draco didn't really enjoy it as much so it became our thing…" Her voice had became soft as she started recalling those nights.

"It's nice that you had something to do with your aunt," Hermione mutters softly. "My mum and I - we would always sit down and have tea and scones."

"That sounds really pleasant," Meissa compliments.

"It is," Hermione agrees before recalling their previous topic. "Oh - what about the rest of your classes?" she asks, briefly confusing the other girl. "What do you think of Herbology and Transfiguration?" she clarifies.

"Ooh," Meissa muttered before she tilts her head, thinking. "Well… I think I'll do decently in Herbology?" she gnaws on her lip, considering the material they've gone over so far and how she felt about it. "I'm sort of already familiar with the plants and all - but I'm not used to caring for them. So that's a bit of a challenge honestly."

Hermione looks at her for a moment before she realized what Meissa was saying. "Because of Potions?"

"Mhm. And I'm still rubbish with Transfiguration."

This made the Gryffindor frown at her friend. She knew that Meissa's skill in Transfiguration was among the top five in their class and was usually a step or two behind her own success in the class. "I don't really believe that," she disagreed.

"What makes you say that?"

"Meissa, you're really skilled in Transfiguration. You and I are almost always the first ones to complete the assignment in class!"

"That's because I practice a lot in my spare time," she refutes. "Transfiguration doesn't come naturally to me - not like Charms or Defense against the Dark Arts."

"But practice makes perfect and you're already really skilled in the class," Hermione argues. "I think you'll get O's in Transfiguration."

Meissa sighed slightly, deciding that it would be easier to just concede the point - even if she didn't agree with it. Her success in Transfiguration depended a lot on practicing repeatedly. She knows of a few students who were a natural at it but she had a feeling that her natural talent laid more in combative spells.

"Hey… Meissa…?" Hermione asks softly, looking over to her friend.

"Mm?"

"Earlier… when I was walking up to you…"

Meissa looks over towards her, tilting her head as she considers what she was saying. "I assume you mean this," she mutters, pulling out the vial from earlier.

"Are you having migraines again?" Hermione asks, lowering her voice in case her friend was experiencing it now.

"I'm always experiencing migraines," Meissa remarks with a sigh. "It comes and goes. But this…" she raise up the vial towards the stone where the light could filter through the thick syrupy translucent potion, "This is for something else…"

"What is it for?"

"Mm… A while back, just after the whole Norbert situation… I wanted to tell you and Daphne…"

"Does she know?"

"Not yet. I want to tell you both…"

"When do you want all three of us to get together?"

"Do you have time today?"

"The only thing I was planning on doing was studying. But that can wait," she declares and got up, offering a hand to her friend.

Meissa looked up at her for a moment before she accepts the offered hand. With a bit of a haul the Slytherin girl was soon standing up, tucking away the vial into the front of her robes.

"Where would Daphne be right now?"

"Mm… library?"

Hermione nods and, hooking her arm with Meissa's, led the way back to the castle, leaving behind their clearing by the lakeside.

~MJB~

Daphne wasn't too hard to find - with it being close to the end of the year and exams being just around the corner. She was in the library, hidden in the corner they had found while studying for their mid-exams before the winter break. It was relatively secluded in comparison to most of the library.

"Meissa," Daphne greets her before she saw that Hermione was with her, "Hi Hermione." She took note of the nearly blank look in Meissa's eyes and the worried and curious look in Hermione's before deciding that the conversation that they'll be having soon deserve her full attention.

So with a flick of her wand - her brows furrowed together as she concentrated - she sends her books and notes into her bag. A few went wayward and scattered to the ground. She scowls to herself and went to pick them up. Only to be beaten to them by Meissa who hands them over to Daphne once she had them all picked up.

"Thank you," the blond smiles slightly before putting her things away. "I'm not sure what's you want to talk about but do you want to have it here or somewhere else?"

"Some place isolated would be a good idea," Meissa answers simply.

"Do you think we could head back out to the clearing?" Hermione asks, suggesting a place that the three of them know of together.

"It's isolated," Daphne agrees.

"It is, but we've been to it already today," Meissa shook her head - already paranoid that someone would get the idea to follow them. "We need a different place to meet up in."

"There is the unused dungeons," Daphne volunteered, prompting Meissa to consider the dungeons. She knew that the dungeons were large and that it was likely that some parts may have fallen into disuse over time. They'd have to make sure they don't go anywhere near the corridors often used to go to Potions but it could work.

"Alright," she agrees.

"Wait, what?" Hermione injects. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I thought you were worried about…" Meissa and Daphne watched as Hermione gestured around them, the girls arching an eyebrow at her.

"Uh…" the girls looked at each other before giving the Gryffindor girl a look to indicate that she needed to explain what she was going on about.

"I mean… the whole reason why we usually go outside…"

Meissa blinks before she realizes just what she meant. "I think… for this one particular conversation, it should be okay. And if it does become a regular thing, then we will need to figure out a way to ward the room."

"Aren't you good with runes?" Daphne asks light heartedly.

"I'm decent," was Meissa's only answer.

"So is it official?" Hermione asks, looking between the two of them.

"Yes," they answered in near union.

With that Meissa gestured for the blonde to lead the way.

~MJB~

Meissa circled around a few times, considering the large and fairly spacious room for a long moment. Other than the fact that it was extremely dusty - she didn't want to hazard a guess as to when was the last time this portion of the dungeon had been in used - it was functional. There was no holes in the walls and from the feel of it there wasn't a daft to indicate that there was an issue with the door.

She considers the door for a long moment - aware that Daphne and Hermione were waiting for her to explain what was going on. They were fairly isolated in the dungeons - they practically would have left footprints in the corridor's dust if she hadn't had a foresight to use a spell to shift the dust back into place. So that it would look like that no one had gone down the corridors they had used.

It wasn't a perfect solution and she had a feeling that if they mean to use this room frequently they'd need to find a way to keep any spells from observing them.

"Daphne, Hermione," she calls to the two of them and motions for them to join her. "Let's cast _'Silencio'_ together at the door."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione asks worriedly - remembering that sometimes spells can backfire if cast together at the same object.

"Yes," Meissa reassures her, "It's not like we're casting three different spells at the door. The three of us casting ' _Silencio'_ at the door should only reinforce the spell. If anyone tries to take it down they would have to match the strength we put into the spell or overwhelm it."

Hermione frowns slightly before nodding slightly, moving to stand besides Meissa. Unintentionally sandwiching the raven haired girl between her and Daphne. The heiress fidgets for a moment before she manages to force herself to calm down and focus.

With a glance between them she brings her wand in the correct momentum before she utters the spell in a clear firm voice in near perfect union. Daphne and Meissa had been in perfect union with Hermione half a second behind. But the three spells were cast and the room protected by the silencing spell. It should, in theory, keep people from being able to overhear their conversation.

With that done Meissa looks towards the room and the limited furniture available. Most were in various states of disrepair and all were covered in dust. "If we make the room our regular spot we should clean up," she remarks drily.

"Let's worry about that for next time," Daphne suggests, "Unless you like to keep avoiding the reason why we came here."

Meissa sighed and cleared off a chair, using a cleaning spell before using 'Reparo' to restore the chair to its' former glory. Not that there was much for the chair to be proud of - if it could…

She does this twice more for two other chairs for Daphne and Hermione. Once they were all situated she pulls out the vial from earlier. "I… I've been taking these - or a regime of these since I was… nine I think," she sets it on the three legged - it should be four - table.

"I've been reliant on the migraine potion for just as long…" Daphne and Hermione exchanged looks for a second but refrained from making any comments, waiting for Meissa to continue. "But that's not really why I wanted you two here…" The raven haired girl gestures to the vial again. "The Potion Master that designed my potions… he made it so that after three years it would be needless for me to take the potions. Except… after seven months of the potions, I would mess up."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asks worriedly, thinking about medicine and that they're more effective if taken consistently.

"I don't know why but ever since I started taking my potions I would go off them by the seventh month. I was supposed to be done with the potions by the start of our second year except I'm still in the first year of my three year regime."

Daphne frowns and looks between the vial and her friend, considering what she's saying. "You trust us to keep you on your potions," she concluded rather quickly.

"I'm hoping that between the two of you…" Meissa mutters, averting her eyes. "Well, I'm hoping that you'd be able to keep me on my potions…"

The two of them exchanged looks before nodding to Meissa. "We'll do it," they managed to say in union. Prompting Meissa to smile at them - her version of a smile anyway.

"Thank you… I owe you a debt of gratitude…"

"You don't owe us anything," Daphne dismisses.

"Yeah - if you need help staying on your potions then we'd do it," the Gryffindor girl agreed.

"So how often are you required to take the potions?"

"It varies," she answers. "For the first three months I have to take it twice a day," she answers, gesturing to the vial. "I usually take them just before breakfast - before we leave the dorm," she directs to Daphne, "and just after dinner."

"Those are good times," Hermione nods her head slightly. "What comes after the third month?"

"A dose once a day for three months."

"That leads us to the sixth month," Daphne comments. "You said that the seventh month is when you go off?"

"Usually yeah. But if I get too moody I tend to go off regardless of what month I was in," Meissa adds in, recalling that she had gone off her potions barely two months in. Mostly due to the extreme moodiness and self-loathing she had been struggling with at the time.

"Okay, so we need to monitor your moods?" Hermione asks hesitantly, "Make sure that you're taking your potions?"

"Yeah…"

"What's wrong?" Daphne asks, noticing the tone in their friend's voice as well as the distant look in her eyes.

"I want to be done with this," the other girl confesses, gesturing to the potion. "This is my sixth time," she continues softly, "The sixth time I had to restart with regime…"

"That doesn't sound good," Hermione comments worriedly.

"It's not," Daphne agrees, glancing at the brunette. "I'm only guessing this but I imagine that the repeated doses means that you're building a tolerance for it." Meissa only nodded - though it was only a fraction of a nod, it was enough for her two friends to recognize. "How many times can you do this before the potions lose their effect?"

"I… I don't know."

"Then we need to make sure that we get this right," Hermione declares, looking at the raven haired girl. "If we don't know when the potions will stop working for you then there's no room for error."

"What do you propose we do?" the blonde questions the girl, wondering if she had an idea.

"Well…" Hermione looks towards the Black heiress, "Where are you right now in your potions?"

Meissa tilts her head back, thinking. "I had to restart my potions after everything had settled down with Walpurgis' Night and the funeral… So… maybe two weeks? Two and a half?"

"So you're still doing two doses a day," Daphne concluded, looking at Hermione for confirmation.

"Daphne seems like she would be the best person to make sure that you're taking your potions, since - I'm only guessing here - you take them in the dorms?"

"Before everyone enters the dorm room," Meissa agrees.

"So for the time being Daphne should make sure that you're taking your doses," Hermione looks at the blonde to make sure she was okay with this - getting a slight nod in response, "and I suppose I could make a calendar. If we work together we can make sure that you don't miss any doses…"

"What do you mean?" Meissa asks, getting a bit confused.

"Well, you mentioned that your doses change at the third and sixth month, right?" Meissa nods. "One of us needs to keep track of where you are in your potions, that way we don't start too early or late with a potion," Hermione continues, her mind going several miles per minute as she considers her plan. "As I understand it your potions cause you to go off by the seventh month. So by keeping a calendar we would be able to recognize when we should prepare for this and plan accordingly."

"What do you propose we do about the summer?" Daphne injects, thinking ahead.

Meissa glances between the two of them. "I was planning on spending a few weeks at Hermione's house before she comes over to the Black Manor," she mutters softly, not missing the surprised and slightly hurt look in the blonde's eyes. Immediately she felt like scum for not asking her as well. "Would you like to join us?" she asks, her voice soft and just barely audible.

Daphne frowned slightly, "Do you mean to Granger's - I mean, Hermione's - house?"

The raven haired girl and brunette looks at each other. The Slytherin's brow arched in a silent question while Hermione's was contemplative.

"I was thinking to mine," Meissa clarified, "but if you wished to join us at Hermione's -."

"Wait," Daphne interrupts before the other girl could continue. "I - I've never been to the muggle world."

"Neither have I," the raven haired girl reassures the blonde. "But wouldn't it be exciting? I mean - it's a whole new world to explore." She looks at Hermione with a sheepish smile, "Sorry."

"What for?" Hermione asks, slightly confused. "It's natural to view a new experience with excitement," she tells the Black heiress before looking at Daphne, "or nervousness."

"I'm not nervous," Daphne protests.

"But it's okay to be nervous," both Hermione and Meissa reassured in union before exchanging amused looks at each other.

"Could I have some time to think about this?" the blonde requested.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "I'll have to inform my parents that there's a possibility of another friend joining us for the summer but I'm sure it's manageable."

The blonde looked between the two of them before smiling slightly. It wasn't quite the level of Meissa's smile - it was at least five steps above that - but it was enough to convoy that she was unsure of visiting the muggle world.

Meissa didn't doubt that it had to do with the way they were brought up and unlike Meissa, the blonde had little to no knowledge about the muggle world. She often wasn't there whenever Meissa and Hermione would start talking about the muggle world and the magical world, educating each other and sometimes comparing how things were done in both.

"We should probably get back before people start wondering where we are," Meissa suggests to the pair, tucking away the vial into her robes once more.


	25. Up to No Good? Yes We are!

Between Hermione and Daphne, Meissa was doing better about staying on her potion. Hermione’s tracking of the days and the potions meant that Meissa didn’t have to try and recall if she skipped a dose or not while Daphne made sure to remind her to take the potions.

When she informed her godfather he was worried about the fact that two more people knew - having thought that she would only tell Daphne - but when he saw that she was taking consistently instead of missing a dose here and there he made his peace about it. After Meissa also revealed that Hermione was using a calendar he realized that the Gryffindor’s meticulous tracking of his goddaughter’s intake could benefit him and made a note to approach her when the seventh month approached. Although he likely won’t have to worry about it until the start of the second year.

Either way, with the exams due to begin in the beginning of June there wasn’t much time to study. And with Hermione regaining her confidence due to being around Meissa - and for being forgiven for her part in that night’s fiasco - the trio of girls could often be found in the library in between classes and meals.

While Meissa is often not the most diligent at studying, with Hermione around - and with Hermione comes two boys - she had to admit that it was easier with the Gryffindor girl around. Of course, when the girls were done with their own studying for the night they were often roped into helping Harry and Ron study. Due to the constant exposure to the Slytherin girls, Harry was actually coming around to accepting their presence. The only one in the group who had an issue with them being present was often Ron - who made his opinion of them known whenever he sees them waiting with Hermione. It was often enough to make Meissa want to hex the living daylights out of him - if it wasn’t for the fact that Hermione and Daphne knew her well at this point.

Whenever there was a group session Daphne would take away the raven haired girl’s wand for the duration of the session. It doesn’t stop Meissa from trying her best to do wandless magic - a feat she still could not replicate often. She could probably count on one hand how many times she managed to cast a wandless spell.

Either way, they - minus Harry - were studying in the library roughly a week before the exams were due to start. When Harry - having left to receive a book from the Gryffindor tower - came running back empty handed and with a wide eyed look on his face. Distracting Ron from the mock test Hermione was putting him through and prompting Daphne and Meissa to abandon their whispered conversation.

“It’s Quirrell!” he whispered urgently. “He gave it up!”

Daphne and Hermione went red in the face as Meissa looked at the two girls in confusion.

“What?” Ron asked in confusion.

“I overheard Quirrell agreeing to something. It sounded like someone was threatening him - even though I didn’t hear anyone,” Harry explains. “And when I saw him leave the classroom he looked like he was about to cry.”

“Did you see anyone in the room?” Ron asks excitedly while Meissa was narrowing her eyes at the red head in suspicion.

“No, but it seems like they may have left through the other door.” It hasn’t escaped Meissa’s attention that he hasn’t openly accused Professor Snape yet and was hopeful that he will continue in this thread.

“Snape’s done it then!” Ron exclaims, simultaneously proving two different things to the group. 1) That he is capable of leaping to conclusions. 2) He still believes that the Potion Professor is guilty of desiring the stone without any proof to back up his belief. “If Quirrell’s told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell -.”

“Oi!” Meissa interrupted forcefully. “One, it is _Professor_ Snape! Two, there’s no such thing as an Anti-Dark Force spell! That’s just ridiculous!”

“Meissa,” Hermione tries to calm the raven haired girl before she could get them kicked out.

“Who else would be after the stone!” Ron protested.

“Oh, how about every single person who wants gold or immortality,” Daphne retorts in a very dry tone since Meissa was still steaming mad.

“Either way,” Hermione injects before Ron could say something idiotic. “There’s still Fluffy. And at least four different lines of defense after Fluffy, Professor Quirrell’s, and Professor Snape’s.”

“Maybe Snape’s found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,” Ron suggested, “I’m sure there’s a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog.” Meissa muttered ‘Cerberus’ underneath her breath but was promptly ignored by the red head. “So what do we do, Harry?”

It was clear to the Slytherin girls that Ron was biting for an excuse to escape their study sessions. But it was actually Hermione who suggested something. “We could go to Dumbledore. It’s probably something we should’ve done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we could get expelled.”

Meissa immediately disagreed. “Approaching Dumbledore is not a good idea,” she reminded the other girl. “Don’t forget that it’s likely that he put the highly sought after item here for a reason. Among students of all ages,” she continued - aware that the boys were not privy to her earlier speculations. “There’s countless places where he could have stored it away for safe keeping and instead he puts it here.”

“It’s already clear that someone’s after it,” Daphne picks up her friend’s line of thought, “What’s to keep them from attacking the school to get to it?”

“We already know who’s after it,” Ron injects.

“Ron, enough,” Harry snaps before the girls could. “You’ve made your thoughts clear about who it could be but they’re right,” he gestured to Meissa and Daphne, “it’s incredibly narrow minded of us to conclude who it is without proof.” He looks at Hermione. “And that’s the issue, even if we do go to Professor Dumbledore,” he continued, narrowing his eyes at Ron when it looked like he wanted to interrupt, “we have no proof. I doubt that Professor Quirrell would back us up. All we have is our words.” He looks at Hermione, “I don’t know if you’ve seen any of the cop shows but in them they always ask for proof if we try to accuse someone…”

“Cop shows?” Ron, Meissa, and Daphne asked in union, immediately thrown by the muggle reference.

“I’ll explain later,” Hermione reassures the two girls while Ron looked at Harry in askance.

“What do you propose we do then?” Daphne decides to ask when it became clear that no one intended to continue the conversation.

“Nothing,” Harry concludes, prompting everyone to look at him.

“But Harry,” Ron tries to protest, “If we do a bit of poking around-.”

“No,” the bespectacled boy says firmly. “We’ve done enough poking around.”

“You’ve learned,” Meissa remarks in an idle tone, “I take it that losing over a hundred points in one night made you stop and think.”

Harry made a slight face but made no move to dispute it. Instead he reached over and pulled a map of Jupiter to him, making a show of learning the names of its’ moons or trying to.

Meissa and Daphne exchanged look before excusing themselves from the session - citing that they had an errand to do before curfew. With their things packed away in their bags they left the library and went down to the dungeons - heading directly for their Head of House’s office.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Daphne asked warily, keeping her tone light in case anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Mm… I remembered him telling me stories of his time in Hogwarts,” Meissa remarks, “We’ve tried to find a way on our own - now it’s time to see if he knows of a way.”

“You know that they’re not going to be happy about this once they find out.”

“I realize that. But what they said - they have a valid point. We need a way… They have access to each other, at least this way we could have a near instant access to each other.”

Daphne frowned slightly at the other girl before loosening her tie and undoing the top two buttons so she could retrieve a necklace. Opening her hand she reveals it to be a raven pendant on a long silver chain. Meissa instantly recognized it as the necklace she had purchased during the Yule break - gifting it to Daphne for Christmas.

After, of course, she made a few modifications to the necklace along with a letter to explain that the enchantments were not malicious in case the Greengrass patriarch was a paranoid sort. Modifications that were done mostly by her Aunt since she couldn’t find her spare wand - she wasn’t exactly supposed to be practicing magic outside school, not that ever really stopped her before - and because she wasn’t really familiar with the spells she wanted to add onto the pendant. She had decided that it was better to be safe than sorry and roped in her aunt to do the spells.

“Wouldn’t it be better to do something similar to this?” she asked the raven haired girl.

“My aunt was the one who did the spells,” Meissa explained. “And I don’t have the tomes that I got the spells from in the first place.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow at the other girl. “So there’s actually a limit to what you can do?”

“Of course,” Meissa smirked at the blonde. “Besides, I had a reason to want to give you the pendant. I might give Hermione something similar but mostly, Daphne, the pendant gives you - in the case of extreme emergency - access to the Black Manor to seek refuge.”

Daphne nodded slightly - recalling that the letter had said something like this. “So maybe just the spell that would allow me to contact you?”

“If I knew it I would try it,” Meissa replied. “I connected your pendant with mine but that doesn’t mean I know how to replicate that effect for them. That’s why we’re going to Professor Snape.”

“He’s going to ask us why we’re interested in this,” Daphne comments with a frown. “At the very least he might think we’re going to try and use this to cheat.”

“I think I can get him to help,” the raven haired girl comments with a sly smile.

“I dare not ask.”

~MJB~

The next morning Meissa was sitting at the table with a tired yawn, just barely covering her mouth as Daphne added what she had observed to be the raven haired girl’s favorite go to breakfast. Hoping, of course, that she actually had an appetite. When she has an appetite it was often hard to get the girl away from the table - she ate like it was going to be her last meal, which considering her eating habits was sort of likely. But when she had no appetite it was like a life or death struggle just to get the girl to eat.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Daphne asks, curious as she scoops some of the scrambled eggs onto her own plate, loading a few other breakfast items afterwards.

“Mm… in between thinking about a medium, school, and the summer I don’t think I slept more than an hour.”

“That’s barely anything,” the blonde observed. She knew that Meissa rarely slept through the night - after a whole year she was able to observe that - and that, on average, she slept maybe three to four hours a night.

“Yeah,” Meissa muttered, pressing a thumb against her temple.

“You think you can manage today?”

“Don’t really have a choice, do I?” Meissa retorts with a sigh before looking towards the Gryffindor table. Noting that Hermione was looking a bit frazzled. Grim but frazzled all the same. “Hey,” she gestured to the table where the muggle-born witch was sitting, “What do you think?”

“Mm… whatever it is, Harry looks just as grim.”

The two girls looked at each other. “Think we should ask?”

“Well… we do have to meet up with them later, to give them the books,” Daphne comments, reminding Meissa of the three leather bound journals in her bag.

Meissa had managed to sweet talk her godfather into giving her the list of spells necessary to enable instant communication between two or more items. Except they needed to get the trio in an isolated room with them so that they could cast one of the spells onto the books - keying the books to themselves before they could cast the spells that would connect the five books together.

The list was a different set of spells than the one Meissa and her Aunt Cissy had used but the difference laid in the mode of communication and the purposes. Daphne’s necklace was mainly meant to act as a portkey to Meissa’s home in case of emergencies although it was possible for the blonde to use the necklace to verbally communicate with Meissa - so long Meissa actually remember to wear hers. Whereas her godfather’s spells was geared towards written communication - though Meissa was able to convince her godfather to give her a spell that would allow for a group to communicate with each other instead of just two individuals.

She wasn’t quite sure what was running through Uncle Sevy’s mind at the requests but so far he doesn’t seem inclined to question her.

With the thought of getting the Gryffindors alone they started eating - the raven haired girl looking over to her cousin who was staring at a parchment paper with a frown on his face. Curious about what’s bothering him she took note that his usual body guards were present so she decided that she’d approach him later if he doesn’t find her first.

It was a fifty-fifty chance that he would find her if it was something he didn’t think he could handle on his own.

~MJB~

Meissa was walking towards their afternoon class when she felt a hand on her elbow - almost causing her to freeze up. Overwhelming that reaction she whirls around, her wand sliding into her hand, before she realizes that it was Draco. “Don’t you know not to do that!” she hissed at him, irritated at him and herself. Him cause he should’ve known better than to touch her out of her sight. Herself cause she shouldn’t have been so lax with her guard and ignorant of her surroundings.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly, “I just wanted to let you know that I have detention tonight.”

She blinks and studied her cousin. “It’s been over three weeks since you got in trouble though,” she remarked, thinking that Hogwarts has a really strange way of doing detention.

“Yeah, but I’m serving my detention tonight. I have to meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.”

“Stay out of trouble,” she warned him only to get a casual brush off. She doesn’t snap at him for it, focusing instead on getting to class. Dragging along her cousin to make sure he doesn’t get any further trouble.

Class ended up being dull - with the professors reviewing some of the materials and - in the case of Transfiguration, Charms, and DADA - allowing the students to use the room to practice spells. Quirrell was still a stuttering mess but at this point Meissa thought the lowest of him. Still, when she was in the class with him he looked like he was absolutely miserable and looked extremely nervous. Meissa couldn’t quite place a finger on it but whatever it was, the whole thing was setting her on edge.

Either way, it wasn’t until after classes were over that Daphne and Meissa were able to get Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.

“You came up with a way to allow us to communicate instantly?” Hermione asked excitedly when she was presented with the list of spells while Meissa was pulling out the leather bound journals from her bag. She had found an unused journal in her trunk and made four copies using the Geminio spell. She knew that normally the copies would age faster than normal but she read somewhere - she couldn’t remember where - that spells applied to duplicates would allow said duplicate to last longer.

“More or less,” Daphne answered, peering over Hermione’s shoulder, pointing to one of the spells to explain it. “This one we need to cast individually. It will key the medium - the journal - to the caster.”

“Oh,” Hermione mutters, thinking quickly. “It’d prevent people from being able to use the journal other than the caster?”

“Correct,” Meissa mutters, trying to recall the incantation of the color changing spell. “Colovaria,” she tries, waving her wand in the right motions. (1)

She barely changes the plain black leather, instead adding the House of Black crest on the cover as well as adding a border of gold. Satisfied with the change she looks at the others to find that they were staring at her with varying degrees of disbelief.

“What,” she huffs, “It’s easier to change the looks now instead of later.”

“What year is that spell?” Daphne asked suspiciously.

“Uh…” Now that she mentioned it she wasn’t quite sure.

“No, wait, I don’t think I want to know.”

Hermione shook her head before asking how to do the spell, wanting to change hers as well. With Hermione taking the lead Harry was soon asking to learn it with Ron reluctantly agreeing to learn. Daphne made no comment about learning it but it did not escape Meissa’s attention that the resident blonde was watching her wand movements when she demonstrated for the Gryffindors.

Soon enough the five journals were changed to meet the preferences of the owner.

Harry chose a golden snitch for his journal - with Meissa enchanting it so that the snitch was actively moving on the cover. When she asked him if she liked anything else than Quidditch he just gave her a blank look that made her sense that something was wrong. But neither were willing to say anything so they left it alone.

Hermione chose two different quotes for her journal. ‘The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away’ and ‘Time is very slow for those who wait, very fast for those who are scared, very long for those who lament, very short for those who celebrate, but for those who love, time is eternal’ were the two quotes she had chosen. Though she couldn’t quite understand how she managed to recite those two from off the top of her head. With a bit of a help from a spell Meissa enchants the two quotes so that every time she closes the journal the quote will change to the other one.

Ron chose the Chudley Cannons - Meissa had to ask Daphne about what that meant - and the illustration he had envisioned in his head was closer to stick figures on the journal. While she wasn’t familiar with the Quidditch team she did - with Daphne’s help - turn the stick figures into actual illustrations before enchanting them. The burnt orange was really horrible to her eyesight but it’s not like she would see it often.

Daphne decided to go with her family crest - which apparently consisted a blue and white shield with some sort of magical creature on top, she couldn’t identify it and the blonde wasn’t willing to discuss it. She also kept the cover black but added a bunch of stars although Meissa would have sworn that she saw a familiar constellation.

With the journals made exactly how they wanted them they decided that it was time to get down to business before it got too late. But seeing that the spells were somewhat complex Meissa, Daphne, and Hermione practiced the spells first before they were confident enough to do them.

Daphne volunteered to go first, pointing her wand at the book with her family crest.

“Revincio,” she intones as firmly as possible. A thread of light appeared from the tip of her wand before connecting to the book, once she saw that the thread had wrapped around the book she brought her wand to her chest. The tip of her wand was pressed against the area over her heart. Once the wand was there she intoned, “Ut omnes accessum negare.” (2) (3)

The light flared once before vanishing.

“Ready to try it out?” Meissa asked, eyeing the journal. Without waiting for a response from the blonde she reached out and grabbed the book. The second she touched it there was a flash and a sharp hiss of pain. She drops the book back onto the table and was shaking her hand. “It works!” she declared with a wince while everyone ogled at her.

The instant she touched the book she experienced a sharp pain akin to being burned but she did not notice that her hair had frizzed out. That her entire body looked like she got struck by a lightning bolt. Though she felt the pain mostly in her hand there were tingles all across her body. She barely noticed it but she did notice that everyone was staring.

“What?”

“Uh…” the boys were of no use.

Daphne simply went over to her and reached out a hand to smooth down Meissa’s hair. Blinking, the Black heiress reached up and touched her electrified hair. “Wow,” she remarks as she tried to smooth down her hair. When that turned out to be in vain she braids her hair back.

“Well, we know that the binding spell works,” Hermione spoke up. “What’s next?”

“The mirroring spell,” the two Slytherin girls announced together.

“Except we can’t do that until all five journals have been bound to their respective owners,” Daphne adds in.

“I’ll go next,” Hermione volunteered.

“Harry, do you feel confident enough to do the spell?” Meissa decided to ask while Hermione was preparing.

“I don’t know - It seems easy but…”

“Is it the words that’s making you uneasy?”

“Yes,” he answered truthfully - he figured that denying it would be a bad idea.

Meissa hummed as she thought about it, trying to think of a way to help improve Harry’s confidence about the spell. “You understand that Latin is the language we use to cast our spells?”

She waited until he nodded his head before continuing, aware that Ron was listening in.

“Well the practice of using Latin is extremely old but it doesn’t mean that the spells will fail if we say them in English.”

“Really?” She nods her head slightly. “Why don’t we then?”

“Mm… Casting a spell consists of three parts. Language,” she holds up a finger, “Wand movement,” she adds in a second finger, “and intent.” She made sure that Harry was still following along before she continued. “If you eliminate the use of language you’ll find that you’re casting non-verbal spells.”

“Like that time when we were practicing the levitation charm?” Harry asks.

“Exactly. The benefit of casting spells non-verbally is… Can you think of one?”

“Mm, an advantage over your opponent?” Harry suggested.

“Exactly. If they don’t hear you then they’re likely to react late to you. Another advantage, Harry, is that they won’t know the spell you used. And if they don’t know the spell then they can’t counteract it.”

“Mm… But Professor Flitwick… the way he reacted to you learning how to cast spells non-verbally…”

“Well… The language portion of the casting basically mold the spell into the proper form - for a lack of better wordings. So there was a huge chance I would change the spell into something else. That’s why Professor Flitwick told me to exercise caution.”

“Oh… that makes sense.”

Meissa shrugged. “Anyway, instead of using Latin, let’s see if we can produce the same effect.”

“Spells can produce different effects?” Hermione asked, having been listening to the discussion the entire time while binding the journal to her.

“Yes and no,” she answered. “The largest part of the spell is intention.” Meissa glanced towards Hermione, recalling that she had this discussion before with. Or at least something similar to it. “The Latin prevents the spells from being influenced by the language portion - since not many people know how to speak the language. But since we’re going to try casting the spell in English we need to establish that you understand the intended purpose of the spells.”

“Revincio,” Daphne decides to pick up the thread of the conversation, “means bind. The Spell itself is to bind the object to the caster. But when we combine the words ‘ut omnes accessum negare’ we’re basically restricting the access to only us.”

“Would using Revincio on a person work if we only want to tie them up?” Hermione asks.

“No. The purpose for this particular spell is more towards preventing access to an item. If you want to tie up a person the spell would be _Incarcerous_ ,” the blonde corrected.

Training with Meissa had familiarized her several high level spells - some she still had issues with producing consistently. But she could cast a low spell perfectly and often, due to daily practice, with powerful effects.

“Oh,” Hermione taps her chin with a finger. “Okay, I suppose that makes sense.”

“So… When I cast the spell, I need to think that the journal has to be bound to me and only me?” Harry questions.

“It’s a start. But, Harry, do you want to try it out with something else before we try it on the journal?”

“Please.”

She nods and pulls out a decent quill. It wasn’t among the top five she’d use but it wasn’t too shabby where she’d feel guilty for allowing it to be bound to Harry. “Try the spell on this,” she sets it on the table and stepped back to allow him to try the spell.

Harry took his wand and took a deep breath. “Bind to me,” he intones, “Deny to all access.” Meissa noted that his voice was wavering and suspected that the spell probably didn’t take.

“Who wants to volunteer?” she looks to the others, recalling the previous attempt. Ron and Daphne were hesitant and Meissa could see that Hermione was debating it.

“How about we do rock paper scissors?”

“What?” they, except Harry, questioned in union.

“Uh, it’s sort of like a game except we use it to determine something.”

“I know of it,” Harry spoke up before he held up a fist. “Rock.” He flattens his hand. “Paper. And then he formed a v with his fore and middle fingers. “Scissor.”

“You want us to do something like that to determine who gets to pick up the journal to test Harry’s spell casting?” Meissa asked, looking at Hermione for clarification. Once she saw her nod she looked at Daphne and Ron.

“How do we do this?”

~MJB~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**
> 
> **1) Colovaria** \- Color change spell
> 
> **2) Revincio** \- bind
> 
> **3) Ut omnes accessum negare** \- Deny access to all
> 
>  


	26. Studying and Detention

A short game later - which concluded with Meissa and Ron facing off, the red head losing - and a relieved Ron revealed that the spell wasn’t as strong as the spell casted by Daphne. So they had Harry practice a bit more while Ron cast his own spell onto his journal. Meissa was not going to test the journal for him and she wasn’t about to let Hermione or Daphne test it so that left poor Harry to play shock victim.

It took Harry at least three tries to get the spell right but by that point Ron’s hair was smoking and Meissa would have sworn she was seeing sparks dancing along the red head’s hair. Once everyone had finished up with their spells Meissa cast the spell onto her journal.

When all five of the journals were bound to their respective owners, all was left was to connect the journals to each other. The spell they had been given was a mirroring kind. It should ideally allow the books mirror each other.

If someone was to write in one journal it should - ideally - show up in the other books as well.

“How are we supposed to do this mirroring spell?” Harry asked, curious. “How does it work?”

“ _Cogita scriptura_ should cause the journals to mirror the writings,” Meissa explains, demonstrating the wand movements for the spell. “After that we need to set triggers to the journal,” she mutters, looking at the list.

“And the triggers are for?” Ron asked.

“There’s one for alerting the owner,” Daphne read from over Meissa’s shoulder.

“There’s one for allowing private conversations?” Hermione comments.

“I don’t know what’s the purpose of at least two of these,” Meissa comments, waving the parchment.

“Are you sure we should use the spells?” Hermione asked while Daphne looked questioningly at Meissa.

“Mm, well, nothing so far seem to suggest that we shouldn’t use the spells.” The Gryffindors nod slightly, thinking.

Meissa studied the list and the information about the spells before she came to a conclusion. “From the look of it it’s not necessary for everyone to cast the spells.”

“What do you mean?”

“Binding the journals required us using the Revincio spell but after that the spells on this list can be cast by a single person.”

“Oh…” Harry looked at his two friends before looking at the two Slytherins. He knew that Ron wasn’t the best at learning how to cast spells and he himself have issues sometimes - okay, a lot of times.

But Hermione, Daphne and Meissa - they had the skills needed to cast the spells. “Hermione, will you cast the spells?”

“I don’t know Harry… some of these look really complicated. Maybe with some practice I might be able to but I think it’s better if Meissa or Daphne cast them.”

“There’s no way I’d let a Slytherin cast a spell on our things!” Ron protested immediately.

The girls rolled their eyes - they should have expected that.

“I think there’s a cauldron unlit in there,” Daphne muttered softly to her friend who had to stifle a laugh. They had been thinking the same.

“Weasley - I’d like to get a move on,” Meissa drawls. “It’s almost supper.”

“Ron, I trust Meissa and Daphne. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”

“They’re snakes! They shouldn’t be trusted!”

“You’re like a broken record, Weasley,” Daphne comments while Meissa pointed her wand at the journals and cast the five spells they needed for the whole thing to work.

The red head never looked so scandalized.

~MJB~

Meissa was in the common room, reviewing her notes with Daphne’s occasional inputs. Daphne - as it was discovered early on in the semester - was much better at doing transfiguration. But struggled a bit with Charms. The blonde was decent in Potions but to their knowledge her current marks in the subject were Acceptable so she had gone to Meissa for tutoring. So in exchange for additional tutoring in Charms - which was Meissa’s forte - the blonde had agreed to tutor her in Transfiguration.

However, both were fully aware that History of Magic was going to be a struggle - both found it hard to stay awake during his lectures and reviewing the text often lead to Meissa distracting herself with spells and Daphne doodling on the pages of her textbook. Draco has occasionally joined them - his insight on HoM helpful since neither girls could stay awake for that particular class. Or rather - Meissa couldn’t stay awake and Daphne usually ends up going into a dazed trance. Draco wasn’t actually any better at staying awake during the class but if there was one thing he loved it was history. Granted, the history they were learning in Hogwarts seemed to be stuck on the Goblin Rebellions - which were essentially ancient history - and doesn’t seem to cover any time afterwards.

This came as a surprise to Daphne since she never expected him to show so much interest in history - he knew a lot about certain eras in history. Meissa was not so surprised since she remembers her cousin being interested in the history of Magical Britain.

Either way, both expected to get O’s in defense against the dark arts since they were well versed in the theory of Dark Arts. Meissa specifically was aware of more than most type of magic considered Dark due to her mother’s affinity for such spells. Daphne was not as experienced as Meissa in regards to spells but she considers herself to be aware of many magical creatures that are considered Dark.

Regardless, both of their families’ history with Dark Magic gave them, in their opinion, an advantage in which Light families would not have.

Meissa’s family was, more often than not, associated with the Mental Arts of Magic. Which typically meant they had the strongest Occlumency walls ever seen in Magical Britain. It also went hand in hand with them being able to penetrate everyone else’s minds - usually without being detected by their victims. She vaguely remembered reading an account where an ancestor went into the mind of a wizard and planted an idea into his subconscious. She couldn’t remember what happened to the wizard in question but there had been a rather illegible text that indicated that the plant can either be rejected - which could lead to suicide - or accepted.

It’s also speculated that as a result of her family’s skills in Legilimency and Occlumency, their mental states are fragile. Meissa remembered what her great-grandfather had told her so in her opinion there were actually two different theories for the infamous Black insanity - not that they actually advertise it to the other families.

While the Black family history was somewhat well known to Meissa, the Greengrass’ history with the Dark Arts were not something she was well versed in. Of course that doesn’t mean that she was going to actively seek out Daphne’s family history. As curious as she is she was familiar with the usual etiquette regarding one’s family history/specialization.

 “Meissa.”

The raven haired girl looks up from her notes, having failed to realize that she had fallen silent during their study session. “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” the blonde comments with a teasing smile. “Are you done studying for tonight?”

“Mm…” She looks towards the clock and found that it was only thirty minutes after eleven o’clock. “I wonder how Draco’s detention is proceeding.”

“I don’t mean any offense to your cousin but I imagine that he has gotten himself into some sort of trouble,” Daphne comments lightly, She knew that Meissa could become immensely protective of her cousin if someone said the wrong thing. She was less likely to blow up on someone if the person was someone she trusted but she was still a family orientated person.

“I imagine you’re right,” Meissa comments light heartedly. “Do you reckon he’s serving detention with Harry, Hermione, and Neville?”

“Well, Hermione did write that she had to leave for detention.” The blonde gestured to the journal laying open between them. They had been writing with Hermione - updating each other in regards to the stone and when that was all dried up they exchanged information regarding notes.

Hermione was perhaps the one who would receive top scores in all the classes - that was the impression Daphne gotten from her when she asked the other girl about where something would be in their Herbology notes.

Meissa was familiar with some magical aspects of plants - due to her familiarity with Potions - but like she had mentioned before, caring for plants was different from actually dicing and cutting them for Potions. Daphne, despite her last name being ‘Greengrass’, did not know much about plants in general. Several times someone had made a joke about how she should know what plants are due to her name being a reference to plants. Each time, Meissa had hexed them in some shape or form.

It took about six different hexes to get people to realize that picking on Daphne Greengrass would result in retaliation. But the effort was worth it for the Black heiress.

“I’d like to think that they’re not serving the same detention together,” Meissa mutters, “But I get this impression that Dumbledore would assign them to the same instructor to serve out their detentions together.”

“You think so negatively,” Daphne teased.

“Considering what he did, I feel like I’m justified to think negatively.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow at the raven haired girl. “You’re going to have premature grey hair before you’re thirty!”

“If I do, I do. Can’t change that.”

The blonde rolls her eyes at her. “You’re being ridiculous now,” she comments. “There’s more to life than being paranoid and reading too much into things.”

“Maybe, but you cannot deny that strange things are happening around Potter.”

“Meissa, his life has been odd since he was a baby. I mean, if you read those books - not that I’m saying I have - you’d see that his entire life is supposedly some grand adventure.”

“Do you believe those adventures?”

“Mm… Those books painted him as an arrogant boy,” the blonde comments, “Facing of many different magical creatures and wreaking havoc - getting away with each misadventure.”

“Yet he is very much opposite of what those books say.”

“What are you thinking?” Daphne questions, recognizing that thoughtful tone.

“I’m just wondering… Do you remember how small he was when he first arrived?”

“Well… sort of? It’s been months since our Sorting.”

“Right, but think about it, do you remember that he seemed a bit skinny?”

Daphne frowns as she tried to recall this. “You’re right,” she starts slowly, “I mean, he was small and skinny but…”

“It seems a bit much.”

“Right.” She looks at Meissa who seemed to be in a very deep thought.

She watched as Meissa reached out and grabbed a scrap of parchment and started scribbling - writing in a shorthand Daphne was still learning the code for. Looking over her shoulder she could only make out parts of what the raven haired girl was writing.

There was something about research, suspect, and law. Other than that she couldn’t make out a single thing.

“What are you planning?” Daphne asked warily.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing is ever nothing with you Meissa,” Daphne points out. “I just want to help.”

“I’m only working on an idea.”

“Two heads are better than one,” the blonde observes idly, hoping that the raven haired girl would actually agree to letting her help.

This actually succeeds in prompting the other girl to look at her seriously. “I’m a bit curious about what our laws - and the muggle laws, now that I think about it - has to say about child abuse.” Daphne blinks at her, startled by this. “Or maybe child neglect - that would be a good place to start, all things considered.”

“What in Merlin’s name brought this on?”

The Black heiress gave her a serious look, “Oh come on, we were just talking about it.”

“Just cause he’s skinny doesn’t mean he is being abused! Or neglected!” she hastened to add when she notices that the other girl looks prepared to rebut.

“It doesn’t hurt to look into this,” the raven haired girl grumbles.

“Perhaps, but I get the feeling that this, this is likely to turn into a huge problem.”

Meissa frowns at the blonde before she stubbornly went back to her scribbling.

Sighing in defeat Daphne considers that there could be no harm in helping her out in this moment. “What do you need me to do?”

“Mm… do you know any good books on magical laws?”

~MJB~

It was late when the girls finally went to sleep that night, satisfied with what they had came up with regarding magical laws. Meissa was still curious about muggle laws so she made a resolution to discuss it with Hermione before the year’s end - or at least during the summer.

But when they woke up Meissa discovered that somehow her cousin had gotten the fright of his life during his detention. While Meissa would have not pay much attention to this it was when she heard ‘Forbidden Forest’ in the same sentence as ‘detention’ she looked at her cousin in shock.

“You served your detention in the forest?!” she whispered harshly, her eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t known better Draco would have assumed that he was in deep trouble with his cousin.

“Yeah. We had to go find an injured Unicorn. Except, the unicorn wasn’t exactly injured when Harry and I found the bloody thing,” the blonde boy explained. “There was this thing - it was _drinking_ from the unicorn!” he whisper shouted, looking anxiously around.

“Describe it,” the raven haired girl demanded flatly.

“What? No!”

“Draco, don’t argue with me,” she frowns at him. Her tone a clear indication that she was going to get this from him one way or another.

“Why do you even want to know?” the blonde shudders while Daphne looks on, occasionally looking about to make sure no one was in hearing range.

“Cause, Dray, drinking unicorn is an act of desperation. And since this took place in the Forbidden Forest - a stone throw away from the castle… Well, it tells me that we could all be in danger.” She was looking quite serious for an eleven year old, her thoughts speeding through ideas and implications of a creature or person desperate enough to drink unicorn blood despite the curse of a miserable half-life.

He did not look reassured by this - if anything the thought frightened him more than anything else. It was a miracle he didn’t just book it down the corridor - though it may have something to do with the stern look she was shooting at him.

“Alright,” he muttered, relenting. “There was a slithering sound, just before we saw it… It was hooded but it was clearly not.” He paused, unsure how to phrase whatever was on his mind. “It didn’t look like some beast. I mean… I don’t know how to explain it but it didn’t look like any magical creature.”

“What else can you say about it.”

“Nothing really.”

Meissa studied her cousin’s face for a long moment before she noticed something. “Did it do anything? Other than drink the blood?”

“Well… it was crawling.”

“Crawling?”

“It looked like it was crawling. I mean, it had these dark robes - with a hood - but it was crawling. Or stalking really.”

Daphne looked confusingly at the other blonde while Meissa was thinking.

“What happened next?”

“I don’t know. I ran,” the Malfoy heir mutters shamefully.

“There’s no shame in running,” Meissa remarks, “It means that you live to fight another day.”

Draco looked at Meissa, looking surprised at her comment before realizing that as a Slytherin self interest basically wins out in any cases -         and for Meissa she cared a lot about family, as much as she cares about herself if not more.

Meissa was distracted with her thoughts because otherwise she would have shot Draco a look for staring for so long. As it was, Draco felt a bit comforted by the presence of his cousin. Despite the fact that she has a hairline trigger to her temper, he knew that she would do anything to protect her family. Something he felt he needed to return more often.

“I’m curious, what happened after you ran off?” Daphne inquired. “Cause it didn’t seem like you mentioned Harry afterwards.”

“I ran back to Hagrid and it was then I noticed that Harry wasn’t with me. He got bloody mad - said that I shouldn’t have left Harry alone,” Draco grumbled the last bit to himself. Meissa rolled her eyes, a bit torn between two thoughts on this matter. Harry should’ve ran when something apparently dangerous was stalking towards him and Draco should’ve grabbed Harry as he bolted. But it’s been done - time cannot be undone to fix what has happened.

Snapping out of her thoughts she looked at her pale cousin, noting that he was paler than usual, and clasps him on the shoulders. “Cousin of mine, live and fight another day,” she told him before she turns him around and pushed him towards the Hall, silently telling him to go on ahead.

Once they were alone and it was clear to them that there was no other students around, the two friends exchanged looks.

“Do you have the journal on you?” Meissa asked, curious.

Daphne took a moment to look into her bag, snagging the journal almost immediately. “Want me to write them?”

“Mm, ask Hermione if Harry is okay and for an update on what happened after Draco and Harry got separated,” Meissa suggested, holding a quill out for Daphne. It was one of the quills she has that has a charm that would supply ink for the quill.

While Daphne wrote out the question for Hermione, the spells on the journal preventing anyone except those who were connected to the journals from reading what was written, Meissa kept a look out around them. Glaring at those who peered at them for too long. “Here’s her response,” Daphne muttered softly when the journal started to show Hermione’s writing. With each word she finished it appeared in theirs - each letter making its appearance as the word was written. In some cases it became scratched out when the Gryffindor girl decides to rephrase it. “She says that Harry thinks it was…” she pauses, prompting Meissa to look over at her, “ _Voldemort_ ,” the blonde whispered quickly. The raven haired girl was one part amused and one part concerned for the blonde since it nearly looks like she was going to have a panic attack over using the name. “Apparently the unicorn blood was to last him until he took the stone.”

Meissa went over to her and read over her shoulder. “Ron is still vocal about Professor Snape,” she remarked, reading Hermione’s mentioning of it. She then caught notice of something near the end of the passage. “Harry got back a family heirloom - handwriting suggested that it was the same person who gave it to him for Christmas…”

“What could he have gotten?”

“I don’t know…” Meissa frowns slightly before she searched her bag for her journal. When she came up empty she looked at Daphne. “Can you ask her?” The blonde rolls her eyes at her playfully before she wrote it down.

Instead of Hermione answering it was Ron: NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS!

Harry’s writing quickly came after that, apologizing for Ron’s words and stated, in simple terms, that it was cloak.

“A cloak for Christmas? That’s dull,” Daphne comments.

“Unless it wasn’t just a regular cloak,” Meissa mutters, thinking. “Ask if they have any theories as to who gave the cloak to Harry.”

Daphne wrote this out easily and thankfully Hermione wrote something down.

“Handwriting suggested Headmaster. Both times.”

Meissa frowned then at that point. “Let’s go to the Hall,” she mutters, thinking seriously as she considered the implications of Dumbledore giving Harry a cloak - likely something that could serve Harry well. A regular cloak wouldn’t do much - that she could reason out - and Dumbledore, to her, was increasingly becoming more like a manipulative man. It would stand to reason that whatever he gave to Harry it was something he could use to get into and out of mischief. That was her personal opinion about it all.

“Let’s keep an ear out for trouble,” Meissa whispers to her friend. Thinking that Harry was likely to get into some kind of mischief before the year’s over.

With less than a week left before the exams due to start she thought that Voldemort may attempt something while the whole school is busy with exams or reviewing.

~MJB~

Meissa was out by the edge of the lake, enjoying the summer day while reviewing her Transfiguration notes, silently moving her wand in the correct motions. It was a decent day to be out and about and she had a feeling that once the exams started up things wouldn’t be so peaceful anymore.

The Gryffindors have joined Daphne and her in studying a few times - when Ron could manage to hold his tongue. The studying session was much better than their first attempt - the boys had often prompted Meissa to practice her silencing charms on them. Even if the spell was a smidge too advance for their year. Now it was really more like a frantic effort to cram as much into their heads. She actually tried and help Harry retain some knowledge for potion - she thought it might improve his standing in her godfather’s eyes if he could refrain from blowing up a cauldron or messing up the potion to the point of being unsalvageable.

However, it didn’t escape her notice that Harry has had a drawn pinched look on his face since the Forbidden Forest detention - something she was familiar with as a result of her frequent migraines. She thought it was interesting that his scar had ached in the supposed presence of Voldemort and was curious as to why this would happen.

Harry had no idea what was causing his scar to pain him so much. Hermione was just as curious as Meissa but was so stressed out about her exams that Meissa decided that she would handle any research into the Killing Curse and Cursed scars. At least for the time being.

“There you are,” she hears Daphne’s voice before she spotted the blonde approaching her. “Still studying,” the blonde observed. “I think a well-deserved break is in order,” she remarks.

“Perhaps,” Meissa agreed, setting down her notes and wand. “What do you propose we do?”

“Mm…” Daphne made a show of thinking. “I heard that you like to play Wizard’s Chess.”

The raven haired girl arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Draco told you that?”

“Yes. I get the impression that he exaggerated a great deal about beating you with just a rook.” The Black heiress snickers in amusement. “I thought so,” the blonde smiled at her bemused friend. “Well, I have an opponent for you to play against.”

“Oh?” Meissa picks herself up, using her wand to send her things into her bag before swinging it onto a shoulder. “Who?”

“Weasley.”

“Which one, there’s four of them here.”

“Right,” Daphne shook her head at the other girl. “I meant Ron.”

“Oh… why am I going to play against him?”

“I overheard him bragging that he’s undefeatable.”

“Oh that’ll be fun to take down,” she comments with a mischievous grin on her face, walking back to the castle with her best friend. “Is Harry and Hermione going to be there?”

“That’s the impression I got when I challenged Weasley to prove it.”

“I wonder if we can play for keeps after a few rounds.”

“Like what?”

“Mm… Harry and him already owe me a favor so maybe we can play for Chocolate Frogs.”

“So long it’s not the Every Flavor,” Daphne comments with a shudder. Meissa made a face, agreeing with her on that aspect. She remembered finding something that tasted like rotten eggs - that turned her from the candy. Draco was even more unlucky - he got something like vomit once. He was gagging for more than an hour before he convinced one of the house elves to make him something to wash out the favor.

“Whatever we come up with,” Meissa decided to declare, “It’ll be interesting. That much I’ll say.”

Daphne could only shake her head at her friend - amused by the other girl’s confidence in this.

 


	27. Exam Peculiarities

Ron’s face was completely blank, his eyes darting from piece to piece as he considered his options. To Harry and Hermione it seemed like he was stumped - or carefully planning his next moves. It wasn’t exactly clear what was going through the red head’s mind as he sat there with the unreadable look on his face.

Opposite of him was Meissa, her face open and - Daphne had to ponder this one for a second - pleased. The raven haired Slytherin was pleased with herself - apparently the current set up on the board meant something.

Daphne looked at the pieces with a puzzled look on her face - she could recognize the queen and that it was well into the territory of Ron’s portion of the board with a knight and castle nearby. Most of Ron’s pawns had been taken, as well as his queen, a knight, and a rook.

What that meant for Ron or Meissa, she didn’t know and she wasn’t going to presume that she did. If she had to make a statement of it, it would seem like Meissa had backed Ron into a corner. Other than that she knew nothing about what was going on.

“What on Earth is going on?” Daphne suddenly heard Draco’s voice before he appeared by her elbow. “Oh, Weasel against Meissa,” he observed, his eyes glancing over the board. “He’s going to lose,” he comments.

“Shut up Malfoy!” Ron snapped, his first words since the beginning of his rather long turn.

“I was simply making an observation,” he remarked before Meissa turned her head to look at him.

“Dearest cousin of mine, you know the rules.”

He rolls his eyes at her but did not make any comments after that - choosing instead to watch on as he waited for Meissa to trounce the red head.

The moment he was waiting for didn’t take too long as Ron made a move with one of the pieces he had left. He moved the piece to take out one of Meissa’s castle but in response she moved her Queen to put his King in check. The look on the Weasel’s face was so amusing for Draco that he had to bite his lips to keep from laughing out loud.

He knew that Meissa would hex him into the next week if he tried to celebrate too early.

Two short moves later ended the game with Meissa’s Queen smashing Ron’s King to bits. The large pile of chocolate frogs - a result of at least five rounds of going head to head at the price of three frogs per round.

“How are you so good?” Ron bemoaned - somewhat civil with the Slytherins, with Draco being the obvious exception.

“Byproduct of being raised by my godfather and my aunt,” Meissa remarked as she tucks away the frogs into her bag, grinning in victory.

“They’re that good?” the red head questions in disbelief.

“They’ve raised me to use my head - to think of loopholes and how to get what I want from people.”

“They’ve raised you to manipulate people,” Ron states flatly, getting looks from everyone around him - though he took no notice of this.

“Everyone knows how to manipulate,” she remarked drily, her eyes darkening as she gazed at him. “Just how well they can manipulate depends on if they ever get caught.” She made a show of looking him over slowly. “I can reckon that you would probably fail epically in any attempt to manipulate someone.”

Ron’s face actually turned a brilliant red that rivaled his hair in shade. Meissa made no move to leave or defuse the situation, leaving it to Harry to talk his friend down.

“Hermione,” the raven haired girl turned to her Gryffindor friend, “would you like to play a round?”

“I don’t play Wizard’s chess,” the brunette immediately turns down.

Meissa tilted her head at the other girl, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t play or don’t know how?” Hermione just huffed at her, prompting a smile from the Slytherin girl. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn how to play.”

“The game is barbaric!” Hermione huffed at her.

“Why do you believe so?”

“What is the point of the violence?”

Meissa had to pause at that - unsure of what she had meant by violence until she noticed the broken pieces along the side of the chess board. It was then she realized that the violence acts of the pieces beating the other was what had her so conflicted about the game altogether.

“Do you know why chess was invented?” she inquired instead of answering.

“… No.”

Wordlessly Meissa turned towards Daphne and without having to speak a word the blonde knew what was being asked of her.

“Chess has many purposes and many people are unsure of its origin. But Chess, for the magical families, is a way to teach the magical children how to think ahead.”

“What she means,” Meissa speaks up, “Pureblood families have been using chess to teach their children to think for themselves. At least, that was the case in the old days. Nowadays, it isn’t common practice for the Heads of the Houses to bother teaching their children - typically only the Heir is taught.”

“By that logic, Ron shouldn’t even know how to play.”

“He has older brothers. Chances are the Heir taught him and his brothers how to play the game. Now, that leaves the question of whether that means he’s the best at the game compared to his brothers or if his brothers did not care for it as much as he seemed to.”

“What are you implying?!”

“She’s implying that they didn’t care to try and beat you, Weasley,” Draco harped before Meissa shot him a glare.

“If there is one thing I’ve noticed about you, Weasley,” Meissa starts to say once she is sure Draco isn’t going to say anything else, “is that you don’t apply yourself to anything. It appears to me that you have a brilliant mind when you make an effort - you held your own against me, it’s not a feat many in our year can claim.”

That was a partial lie - Draco was infinitely better than the red head - that much she can determine after five rounds against Weasley. But she was hoping that her words would encourage the youngest son of the Weasley clan - not discourage him. And it wasn’t a lie that she thought he had a brilliant mind - she had no doubt that if he applied to himself he would actually do more than scrape by. He had honestly came up with tactics on the board that would have stumped most people - Draco included. She, herself, would say that if she wasn’t so used to expecting the unexpected she would have been stumped as well.

“I have no idea how your brothers play the game - logically most would assume that they went easy on you because you are their younger brother.”

Ron was scowling at her yet she took it a good sign that he was stomping off in a fit of rage. It could mean that some of her words are sinking into his brain.

It was all she really could hope for at any rate. There was plenty she could see wrong about the red head - but as things stand now she had no desire to be harping Weasley.

In any case, she realizes, she has gotten off track with her original request and turned her gaze back to the Gryffindor girl. “Would you like to play the game Hermione?”

“If the game is used to teach the Heirs then why should I learn it?”

"You're an highly intelligent witch, Hermione, I have no doubt that you'll be able to master the game," Meissa remarks drily, "That being said, regardless of what career you chose in the future, knowing how to play chess - mundane or magical - can be applied to life."

"I'm curious," Daphne turned to look at Hermione, "Why do you have such an issue with Wizard's Chess?"

Meissa looked at her friend, puzzled by the question. Doesn't Hermione have an issue with chess in general?

"The game - it's barbaric! I don't see a point for the pieces to smash each other like that!"

"Do you believe that the opponents in a real life war would be benevolent?"

Meissa looked sharply at the other Slytherin - Hermione didn't need to be thinking like that.

Strangely though - it was around this point Meissa realized that her cousin had wondered off. Why he hadn't stuck around for any teasing opportunities she wasn't sure. Maybe he was finally realizing that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were under her protection. Ron Weasley was under it as well but mostly through association with Harry and Hermione. Mostly Hermione. She can only tolerate Harry for so long - although the fact that he hasn't accused Professor Snape of anything to her face in the last few days was a definite improvement in her opinion.

Hermione didn't say anything for a long moment before she shook her head. Harry was looking worriedly at his friend, alternating between glaring at Meissa and Daphne. Ron was staring at the chess board - Meissa could only assume that he was trying to learn from his mistakes in his latest match against her.

"Somehow, I think today has gotten truly complicated when we should've been enjoying it," Meissa sighed in mock annoyance.

“I think we've spent too much time goofing around,” Hermione huffed. “We should've been reviewing!”

“‘Mione, we've been reviewing since the start of the new term - I think we're allowed to have a free day before our finals,” Meissa remarks with a slight grin. “In any case, Daphne and I should get going. I was in the middle of writing a letter to my godmother when I gotten my challenge.”

That was a lie - something only Daphne would have noticed since she was the one who gotten Meissa interested in a match with Weasley. Hermione just nodded her head distractedly, probably thinking about reviewing again. Meissa was half amused by the other girl’s frantic urge to study and prep and the other half was worried. She thought that the Gryffindor girl would burn herself out real quick if someone didn't try to reign her in.

Still, with an excuse made Daphne and Meissa made their retreat from the Great Hall. Intending to return to the Slytherin commons to find something else to do. Meissa was tempted to ask Daphne if she was willing to have a short duel with her but suspected that they wouldn't be able to stay in the practice courtyard for long. Not when it typically takes them two hours to go through the first year’s spells and only an hour remained before Professor Snape’s mandated curfew for his House.

“Do you want to play Exploding Snaps?” Meissa finally asks as they rounded the bend just before the entrance.

“In the commons?”

Meissa smirks as she considered the fact that most students will be doing last minute cramming in the Commons. “Sure, why not.”

Needless to say, no one was happy with the pair after thirty minutes.

~MJB~

Meissa grimaced unhappily as her thick hair clung to the back of her neck, causing her tie it up in a messy bun rather than waste minutes braiding. Once her hair was no longer a distraction she turned her attention back to the exam in front of her. She was confident about her answers, grateful that the theory behind charms wasn't so complicated but a part of her was positive that she'd enjoy the practical aspect of the exam more than the written.

She wasn't quite sure what that meant for her to be honest. After the written exams were summoned by Professor Flitwick they were sent out of the room so that they would - one by one - be called in to do a demonstration. Meissa wasn't sure what the spell was going to be so she mentally reviewed the spells until it was her turn.

It was one of the rare times she was grateful for the fact that her surname started with B. She still couldn't figure out why she was called after Potter during the Sorting but could only guess that order didn't matter much to the Gryffindor Head of House.

When she saw the pineapple a part of her sighed in relief and she brought out her wand, doing the necessary gestures needed to make the fruit tap dance. She gave it a bit of a twist - choosing to occasionally make it twirl as it danced across a desk. It made Professor Flitwick laugh before she was dismissed so she considered herself getting an E at least. She waited around for Daphne to finish her practical and they left together to do a quick study for Transfiguration.

“Why are all the rooms so bloody hot?” she grouches, letting down her hair. Flicking back a stray strand with a glare of irritation.

“You should let me put your hair up in a proper bun,” Daphne comments as they headed for the Commons. “It's improper for a Lady to let her hair become messy in public.”

“Daphne - my hair has always been messy, remember?”

The blonde sighed - she did remember. The only time it wasn't a mess was when the raven-haired girl puts it in a braid. And that's not counting that time when she tamed it for a funeral. “I know but it doesn't change what I've said.”

“Later,” Meissa promised before she utters the password for the Common room.

After a quick visit to the dormitories to retrieve their Transfiguration textbooks they set up in the commons to review some of the spells.

In the twenty minutes they had left before their Transfiguration exams, Meissa was scowling at the mouse she was supposed to be transfiguring into a snuffbox. “Are you sure this is going to be on the exam,” she huffed at the blonde, half tempted to just vanish the thing.

“According to the older students, yes,” the blonde remarked as she went over the theoretical aspect of some spell or another.

The other girl scowled even more at the mouse before she growls out the spell, flicking her wand just right.

She lowers her wand as she tried to figure out what the heck she managed to do.

She got a box alright. That much she can tell.

But it was nothing like what she had imagined - a simple silver box with a latch to keep it shut. It was about as big as her palm when she imagined it to be as large as her godfather’s hand, so it was smaller than she had imagined it. Not to mention it wasn’t even silver - it looked like it was made out of Labradorite, which was probably the furthest thing from what she originally imagined. Yet strangely enough, set in the lid was a round object. A mirror, she realizes.

“Why is that mirror broken?” she suddenly hears Daphne questioned just as she focused completely on mirror and the five stones positioned around it. The stones were a deep brilliant shade of purple and she had a vague sensation that she has seen this stone before.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly - this thing was far from what she originally imagined for the snuff box. And she couldn’t figure out why.

The mirror, she noticed was broken into four pieces. Two of them appeared to almost be equal in size with a third being just a smidge smaller. The remaining piece was, of course, the smallest of them all. Yet the strangest thing about it was the fact that the mirror itself did not contain a web of cracks. The pieces were perfectly broken from each other with no smaller pieces breaking off.

“You Transfigured a mouse into this?” Daphne asked in curiosity, looking at the colors of the Labradorite box. She could identify a blue/greenish color being the core of it with streaks of gray. The entire design of the colors wasn’t that unappealing to look at - though with the purple Fluorites she wasn’t quite sure what to think about the two stones.

“It wasn’t even what I was going for,” she comments drily - thinking that she was going to fail the Transfiguration practical exam for sure.

“Mm, undo the spell and try again?” Daphne suggested. 

Meissa silently agreed with this and pointed her wand at the snuff box - thinking quickly to herself as she tried to recall the undo method. Once she had it in mind she cast the spell.

Except… nothing happened.

“Uh,” Daphne looked between the snuff box and Meissa, puzzled as to why the spell didn’t take. Meissa was just as baffled as the blonde, her eyes narrowing at the snuff box as she started to get uncomfortable in its presence.

It didn’t look anything like she originally intended for it to look like. It didn’t want to return to its mouse form. What else - is it going to resist the Coloromuto spell as well?

“I think you should take this to Professor McGonagall.”

“Hold on - let me try again,” Meissa mutters, reaching for their notes on Transfiguration so she can double check her wand movements. Reassured that she had it right in her mind she grips her wand once more and aimed for the snuff box. She made sure to pronounce each part of the spell correctly as she performed the wand movements.

Yet…

“Maybe you should try?” Meissa suggested, glaring at the snuff box’s resistance to returning to its mouse form. 

“I don’t know,” Daphne reached for her wand regardless of what she was saying. “Normally a spell can only be undone by its caster.”

 “There are ways around that,” the raven haired girl comments idly before quieting to let Daphne cast in peace.

It even resisted the blonde’s attempt to undo the spell.

“Together?”

“Alright…”

They raised their wands together - shared a look between them and said the spell in union.

Meissa watched as the box started to give way before it snapped. Their attempt to undo the Transfiguration causing the magic to backfire at them and the snuff box to persist in defiance to them.

“Ugh,” Daphne winced as she shook her hand - trying to rid herself of the tingles that came with the mild backlash from their failed attempt. “I really think you should take this to Professor McGonagall.”

Meissa grimaces in distaste at this - instantly realizing that if she did such a thing she could expect a lecture form the Gryffindor Head of House for performing magic while unsupervised. “Maybe we can just leave it as it is?” she suggested hopefully.

“And what happens if the spell goes awry during the practical?”

The raven haired girl made another face, recognizing Daphne’s words as a likely occurrence. They didn’t know why the spell went so screwy in the first place and if it was on the practical then it’s likely Meissa will face some difficulties with it. Especially since they had to demonstrate that they’re capable of reversing the spell, to return it to it’s natural state.

“I might as well do it now,” Meissa sighs as she reluctantly got to her feet. She picks up the snuff box, ignoring the tingle of magic around her hand as she held the transfigured box. “Would you like to join me or stay here until our Transfiguration exam?”

“I will join you. I’ve done as much reviewing as I can possibly handle.” The blonde gathers up her things - absentmindedly doing the same for Meissa - and was ready to go with their bags in hand. Meissa, of course, attempted to attain her bag from her friend but found herself denied and gestured to head out of the common room.

~MJB~

Thoroughly scolded, Meissa looked repentant if mostly because of the fact Professor McGonagall gave her quite the lecture about performing magic unsupervised. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Scottish woman was a Master (Mistress?) in Transfiguration she would’ve just taken the box to her godfather and be done with it. Of course there was that minor detail of her godfather’s skill being acceptable but not quite the level as Professor McGonagall.

In either case, the Professor has been examining the snuff box for nearly ten minutes, quietly muttering spells as she waved her wand over it. “May I ask what you were aiming for in the first place?”

“I was thinking of a plain silver snuff box with a latch to keep the lid shut. The size was to be twice what it is currently.”

Professor McGonagall frowns thoughtfully at the young girl in front of her, her mind wondering briefly to the girl’s mother. Physically the resemblance was there - even the unruly mess seemed to be shared between mother and daughter. Intellectually, it would appear that the young Heiress took after her mother. Excelling in many fields of magic and demonstrating a great deal of knowledge when it comes to the theory behind the spells. Worryingly, however, the Heiress seems to be displaying the same ruthlessness as her mother when it comes to those who endanger her family or friends. Thankfully she does not seem to carry the same Pureblood supremacy as her mother and relatives, she wasn’t quite sure who fostered that attitude in the young Heiress.

It was still troubling, seeing the young Heiress whenever she is furious with someone. She has never actually witnessed these moments but she has heard reports of these rages. Yet, what was strange was the fact that these incidents were never recalled by the Black Heiress. The First year has been questioned at least three times - for separate incidents - about her actions. Minerva McGonagall prides herself in the ability to detect when someone is lying to her yet she firmly believes that Meissa Black was not lying when she denies knowledge of the events they’ve questioned her in.

Yet the evidence clearly points to Meissa and the few witnesses that were there all indicated her. There are no mistaking Meissa’s distinctive features. Thin lips, thick shining black hair, dark heavy-lidded eyes, and strong jawline - all of this were characteristics defined to belong to the House of Black. There was not a single person in Hogswart that can be mistaken for Meissa. It was curious that the girl could not recall her actions during the incidents in question.

“Please demonstrate the spell to me,” McGonagall finally declares after realizing that she has been quiet for far too long. She summons a white mouse from the cage and sets the rodent in the girl’s outstretched hand.

She watched as the raven-haired girl set the rodent on the desk, her hand pinning it down as her wand slid into her left hand. A wand holster, she notes idly. There’s a part of her that wondered if the battle orientated mindset Meissa possesses should be worrying. But before she ponder too long on that thought she sees the Black Heiress waving her wand in the correct gestures before she clearly states the spell’s incantation.

As she watched on she sees the mouse transform quickly into a small snuffbox, apparently made from silver. It was nearly plain in looks except for the setting of five stones. She notices that the stones are the same as the other transfiguration except this time she can see that the stones are set in a specific distance from one another.

It took the Scottish Professor a moment to place where she had seen the image before she could identify it. Once the image was fully set in her mind she could see the pathways between the stones. She retrieved the snuff box and compared the two settings, finding them identical in every way. The only exception is the broken mirror sitting in the center of the circle.

It also did not escape her attention that the First-year was glowering at the snuffbox. She could conclude that while it seems to match the description of the girl’s original goal it still took a life of its own.

“Ms. Black,” she finally address the girl, “have you received any formal training from the Old Religion?”

The Black Heiress arched a fine eyebrow at her. “Isn’t the Old Religion banned by the current laws of the Ministry?”

“Answer my question.”

“None of my family, to my knowledge, practice the Old Religions,” she answered blandly. It by no means answered the question of whether or not Meissa practiced.

Minerva McGonagall narrowed her eyes briefly at the young girl standing in front of her – her mind unwittingly comparing the stubborn set in the girl’s jaw to her mother’s. She didn’t like the fact that she kept comparing the girl to her mother. She did not want to be bias to the girl before her now, judging her for the sins of her mother was not the answer.

It was no better than how her colleague treats Harry Potter.

“I will exempt you from performing this spell for your practical,” McGonagall finally decides. “I will keep these two with me for now and perhaps I will discover why this spell is working so strangely for you.”

Meissa bows her head slightly in acceptance. She takes the words as a form of dismissal, pausing at the doorway to peer back at the Gryffindor’s Head of House. “Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes?”

“… What did you see in the snuffboxes to make you ask about the Old Religion?”

At first McGonagall did not look like she was going to answer the question. But after a long tense moment she sees something give in the woman’s eyes. “I saw the Pentagram hidden on the lids.”

Meissa nods her head slightly and left without another word.

 


	28. Trouble is Brewing

After the strangeness of Meissa’s magic behaving oddly for Transfiguration, Meissa and Daphne managed to breeze through the rest of their exams relatively easily. Meissa was confident about her Potion scores - she was extremely used to her godfather’s antics by this point and couldn’t help but be amused by the other students’ complaint that his breathing down their neck had caused them to forget how to make the Forgetfulness potion.

The whole thing had Meissa snickering like crazy for hours after that particular exam.

Daphne didn’t share Meissa’s amusement about that at all - not since she had struggled with the last few steps needed to complete the potion. She was positive that the potion was a few degrees off where it should’ve ended at. Despite Meissa’s attempt to reassure her she was positive that she had gotten a Dreadful at least.

Despite Meissa’s amusement and Daphne’s dismay, they’ve kept an eye over the Gryffindors, almost positive that the trio would end up getting into some kind of mischief even when they should be focusing on the exams. That was how Meissa noticed that Harry had an expression she was accustomed to seeing on her own face. The bespectacled boy has had a drawn pinched face for quite some time - since before the beginning of the exams if she had to think about it. But none of them mentioned any possible reason for why Harry would be suffering from what seemed like a migraine and Meissa did not want to seem like a nosey person so she left the matter alone.

At least, she would’ve if Harry hasn’t messaged her one night, just before their potions finals, asking if she knew any remedies to help him sleep through a nightmare.

She told him that there was a potion - a Dreamless Sleep Draught - that would prevent a person from having nightmares or dreams in general. She also mentioned that for some people it can be addicting depending on their body’s deposition. She cautioned against making the potion - stating that it’s a potion that if brewed incorrectly could have devastating impacts on the drinker. When she didn’t get any response she had cautiously decided to ask if there was something bothering him.

With some free time to herself she pulls out her journal that contained the conversation from the night before, reading through it with fresh eyes.

~MJB~

HP: My head’s been hurting since the forest

MB: Since you encountered that thing?

HP: Yes.

Meissa looked at Harry’s chicken scratch handwriting - idly wondering to herself if he knew how to write with a quill. It looked worse in daylight than it had by wand light.

HP: Have you heard of anything like that?

MB: You haven’t really described it much to me.

HP: Short version?

MB: If you’re comfortable with that.

From there Harry described what he had experienced in the presence of the creature that had spooked her cousin. Harry’s rescue by a centaur. And he even went on to mention that his scar has been hurting since then.

She had gotten curious about it since it’s rumored that he got his scar the night Voldemort fell.

MB: Do you know what caused your scar?

HP: They’ve said that Voldemort did it.

MB: But you don’t know how?

HP: Not personally. I was only a baby when it happened.

MB: Did they ever tell you when it happened?

HP: No?

MB: No one ever told you about the night the war ended?

HP: Wait, you mean when my parents were killed?

Meissa grimaced at the blunt wording.

MB: Yes. For lack of better wordings.

HP: I think I only know the barebones of that night. And it was Hagrid who told me.

MB: I don’t know if he’s a reliable source for what happened but then again, no one really knows.

HP: What do you mean?

MB: Think about it Harry. Voldemort shows up at your family’s home right? He makes it a point to kill everyone in the building just to prove he can.

HP: Okay? Go on?

MB: So, how does anyone know what happened? I mean, if he kills everyone then how does anyone know what happened?

HP: What are you saying? That the whole thing is a fiction?

MB: Maybe it is. We wouldn’t really know. Or maybe someone thought of something and imagined it to be true.

HP: So when they mention it to someone else they don’t say it’s a theory, they say it as a fact.

Meissa nods her head slightly as she wrote, glad that he was following her line of thoughts.

HP: So what really happened if not that?

MB: I don’t know, Potter. But whatever happened it probably caused your scar. Which - by the way - is probably a cursed scar.

HP: Cursed scar?

MB: No one mentioned that to you either?!

HP: No. Well, Hagrid said something about my scar was a result of a powerful evil curse touching me. What does it mean?

MB: I’ll get you a book about it. But the basic gist is that a scar, caused by a curse, will always be sensitive to Dark magic and the caster. And Harry - a curse is never really evil. It’s the intent behind it that determines if the spell was Dark or Light.

HP: So what you’re saying is I’ll always be able to sense Voldemort? And what do you mean a curse is never really evil? I thought that a Dark curse is evil because it’s Dark Magic?

MB: That’s generally the gist of it all. And that’s a long topic that might be better off face to face.

HP: Okay. I have no idea if I should be reassured by this or not. I have to deal with my scar hurting forever?

MB: I guess you could think about it as an early warning system?

HP: That’s one way to think about it.

MB: Potter, it’s past midnight. Do you think you can sleep tonight or do you want to head to the Hospital Wing and hope for a vial?

HP: I think I can sleep now. My scar has stopped hurting.

MB: Okay. Good night Potter. Best of luck for the Potions final.

HP: Thanks, and you too Meissa. 

~MJB~

Thinking back to the conversation from the night before, Meissa can conclude that Harry’s scar is the cause for his pinched expression lately. And she can rationalize that the scar is the product of Voldemort’s attempt to cast a curse at Harry. She wasn’t entirely sure if that curse was the killing curse - how is it possible for a fifteen months old toddler to do something that wasn’t possible for a fully grown adult?

That question bothered her the most. Since logically it shouldn’t be possible. Yet it apparently happened.

So, what could possibly stop a killing curse?

She imagined that if one stopped the curse from hitting then one could survive it - but really that was just blocking it. Harry’s scar suggest that the curse - killing or otherwise - managed to make contact with his skin at the very least.

Personally, she doubted that it was the killing curse that hit him - it doesn’t make sense. But if she had to believe it then she’d need to do some research to determine what would prevent a killing curse from succeeding. She could not honestly claim to know every branch - there could be something that would protect a person enough to keep them from dying.

But onto another line of thought - if Harry’s scar is hurting then would that mean someone is casting Dark Magic close enough for him to sense it? She doubted that one, wouldn’t there be a ward that would alert the Headmaster to Dark Magic being cast within the castle ground?

She’ll have to revisit that line of thought later.

A second possibility as to why Harry’s scar would hurt is the curse responding to the presence of the fallen Dark Lord. That one she couldn’t really explain logically in her mind. Voldemort had been gone for decade already - what were the chances of him actually being alive when everyone has been celebrating his defeat? Somehow she didn’t think it was possible for him to allow Magical Britain to believe he had been defeated by a fifteen months old toddler. If he had been alive he would have surfaced already to rid himself of the rumors/news of his defeat.

Yet, if he was dead then why would Harry’s scar hurt? Unless it was someone else who cast the curse at Harry.

Her head was starting hurt at this point - there was too many questions and possibilities to consider.

“Meissa!” she suddenly heard Daphne’s call, forcing her to abandon her theories for the time being.

Looking up she found the blonde walking towards her. “Yes?”

“I just saw our ‘favorite’ Gryffindors lying about under a tree, do you want to join them?”

“Depends - is Ron being a git?”

“I thought that a chronic condition,” Daphne snarked, getting an instant grin from the raven haired girl.

Meissa got up and without another word they left to join the Gryffindors. They were arriving just as Hermione was commenting something to Harry.

“You could look more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.”

Meissa was one part amused by Hermione’s obsession about grades and one part worried by the fact that Harry was rubbing at his forehead - the exact spot where his scar rested.

“You okay Potter?” she inquired as they made their presence known to the Gryffindors - to the immediate disgust of Ron.

“No! I wish I knew what this means!” he burst out angrily. “I know that you said it’ll hurt in the presence of Dark Magic and the one who gave me the scar! But it doesn’t make sense!”

“What part doesn’t make sense?” Daphne questioned.

“I bet it’s because the snakes are around,” Ron sneered at them, getting an instant eye roll from the exasperated girls.

“Careful, Weasley, you’re starting to look like my cousin,” Meissa remarked drily, getting an instant horrified look from the red head. She then focused on Harry. “I don’t see anyone casting Dark Magic - I don’t sense any either. So that means it’s the second option.”

“How?!” Harry exclaimed, “How can he be here?!”

“I don’t think he has to be right beside you for you to sense him,” Meissa comments.

“So it’s a proximity warning?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Maybe.” Meissa gave a casual shrug. “I’m not the one with the scar and I don’t really know anyone with a cursed scar so I cannot make a comparison.”

“Harry, relax,” Ron spoke up, “There’s no way You-Know-Who can get to the stone -,” Meissa glared at him, she thought it was too risky to speak so openly about the Philosopher’s stone but he ignored her, “- as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape -,” this one got another glare but this time from both Slytherins, “-found out how to get past Fluffy.” Meissa crossed her arms, thinking. There was something bugging her. “He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”

Harry had a look on his face that wasn’t too far off from the expression Meissa was currently wearing. Both had a look of deep concentration that had Hermione and Daphne watching them with curiosity.

Harry was looking up at the skies and was the only one who saw an owl flutter towards the school with a note clamped in its mouth.

Meissa was thinking about Fluffy and Hagrid. She knows that the Groundskeeper had a tongue looser than a slippery bar of soap and thought that there was a possibility of him spilling the secret of how to get past the Cerberus. But she couldn’t think of when a person would get the chance to pry it from him.

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, startling everyone from their thoughts - everyone except Ron. He looked like he was close to falling asleep on the grass.

“Where're you going?” said Ron sleepily.

“I've just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. Something that alarmed everyone. “We've got to go and see Hagrid, now.” He was already half running - half walking to the Hut.

“Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

“Don't you think it's a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?”

Meissa’s eyes opened as she remembered her suspicions the day they had discovered the dragon egg during the Easter holidays. How could she have been so stupid, to forget about that! She looked at Daphne who was confused and not aware of the story of how Hagrid had gotten the egg in the first place.

“What’s going on?” Daphne asked in confusion. She didn’t get an answer from her friend - not immediately anyway. Instead the raven haired girl grabbed her hand and pulled her after the trio, shocking the blonde for the initiated contact.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

“Hullo,” he said, smiling. His smile faltering only slightly at the sight of the Slytherin girls before firming once more - they had not done anything to deserve his mistrust, yet. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

“Yes, please,” said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

“No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

“Dunno,” said Hagrid casually, “he wouldn' take his cloak off.”

Meissa frowned, her shoulders tense as his words confirmed what Harry and her had suspected.

He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows. “It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head - that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas. “What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

“Mighta come up,” said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. “Yeah... he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here... He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told him... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks...” Meissa made a face as she realized that the stranger - it must’ve been whoever wanted the Stone - had made Hagrid’s already loose tongue even looser. “Let's see... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted... but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home... So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy...”

“And did he - did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Well - yeah - how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep -”

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified. Daphne was just as horrified, how could he have been so reckless! Meissa closed her eyes in dismay, that meant the Stone had been at risk since Easter holidays.

“I shouldn'ta told yeh that!” he blurted out. “Forget I said it! Hey - where're yeh goin'?”

The group had left, rushing for the castle. Meissa was muttering darkly as she tried to come up with an idea of who would be after the stone. Her best suspect was Quirrell, whom - according to Harry - had given up the ‘ghost’ so to speak. There was also the fact that there was something about him that set her on edge.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,” Harry declared once they’ve arrived in the entrance hall. “Hagrid told how to get past Fluffy and… whoever was under that cloak must’ve been the same one from the forest.”

“You’re thinking that it was Voldemort?” Daphne asked - with only the slightest of hesitation over the name.

“Yes,” he looks grimly at the four of them. “I don’t know if Professor Dumbledore will believe us but we have to try. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn’t stop him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?”

“Who’s Firenze?” the Slytherins asked in confusion.

Harry had started walking, “He’s a centaur, he saved me in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Oh!” Meissa recalled the conversation from the night before. “He’s the one you spoke of last night!”

“Right.”

Meissa looked at Daphne, thinking about the information they had and that maybe they should involve a Professor. But who?

The two of them followed the Gryffindors for some time, occasionally suggesting ideas as to where Dumbledore’s office may be. Meissa was starting to think that it was idiotic that no one thought to share the location of the Headmaster’s office. This school doesn’t really seem to encourage information sharing in her opinion.

“We’ll just have to-,” Harry began but a voice suddenly rang across the hall, cutting him off.

“What are you doing inside?” It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books. Wordlessly, Meissa moved forward and halved her load, getting an odd look from everyone present but a thanks from the Scottish woman.

“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione shared, straightening her back as if she needed to reconfirm the idea in her head.

“See Professor Dumbledore?” McGonagall repeated, her eyebrow arching at this. “Why?”

“We have a concern,” Meissa spoke up before Harry could - she saw an emotion flicker across his face and had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he was going to say. “We felt it was best to bring it up with him since it concerned the school.”

Professor McGonagall studied Meissa for a long moment. “If it concerns the school as you say, then, as Deputy Headmistress, I can listen to any concern you may have about the school.”

“We sort of wanted to speak with Professor Dumbledore,” Ron foolishly said, getting a stern look from the Scottish woman.

“Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,” she said coldly. “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”

“Flew?” Meissa repeated incredibly. “To London from Scotland? Why didn’t he just floo or apparate?” Daphne instantly saw the points she was making - why would he fly when he could’ve gotten there faster using other means?

McGonagall frowned at this, it was like she hadn’t considered the oddity of this prior to Meissa questioning this.

Harry, on the other hand, was frantic over Dumbledore’s absence. “He’s gone? Now?”

McGonagall looked at him sternly, “Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time -.”

Meissa looked over at Daphne and whispered, “Who apparently can’t floo or apparate anywhere.” Daphne rolled her eyes and nudged the other girl to behave.

“But this is important.”

“Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?”

“Considering,” Meissa spoke up drily, “the fact he moved a very important artifact from Gringotts to Hogwarts, I would hazard a guess and say it’s very important to him.” McGonagall frowned at her, suspicious as to what she was alluding to. “I’m sure that Flamel wouldn’t be pleased to know that his prized possession has gone missing under Professor Dumbledore’s watch.”

The Scottish woman looked at her in shock, the books she was carrying tumbling out of her arms. “How do you know -?” she spluttered.

“How we know isn’t important,” Meissa states firmly, “The fact is, we have reason to believe that someone will steal the stone. And if I had to bet money I would say that Professor Dumbledore was removed from play by whoever sent him that owl. I actually think that the letter must’ve been had a compulsion spell on it because I can’t even begin to explain why he would fly - on a broomstick - to London when there’s faster methods of travel and would be easier on one’s rump.”

Daphne shook her head at Meissa at that last bit but couldn’t disagree with the raven haired girl about the whole statement.

Professor McGonagall looked at them with a mixture of shock and suspicion - she wanted to demand how they had gotten their information but what Meissa Black said worried her, even if she didn’t show it.

“Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow,” she said finally. “I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected.”

“Seven lines of defense provided by Hagrid, you, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Quirrell and Professor Dumbledore,” Meissa rambled off easily and quickly before McGonagall could get in a word. “Each line has something that relates back to your topic with Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore’s contributions being the exceptions.”

Hermione hissed at Meissa to stop before they got them in trouble.

“How-.”

“I’m naturally paranoid,” Meissa stated as she looked at the Scottish woman, her gaze even as she met the shocked and alarmed gaze. “Seven is the magical number and Professor Dumbledore is an old Wizard who place a lot of stock in magical theories so it wasn’t too far-fetched to think that he would have seven lines of defense for a magical artifact highly sought after by a powerful Dark wizard. Now are you going to take us seriously?”

McGonagall looked at her for a long moment, her eyes searching for something in the raven haired girl before she looked at the other students gathered behind her. Harry was looking at Meissa with wide eyes - she couldn’t quite place what was dancing in those green orbs. Hermione’s gaze was bouncing between Harry, Meissa and McGonagall - her gaze searching them as she tried to discern what was going to happen next. Daphne had eyes only for Meissa, her expression that of fierce protectiveness and fondness for the raven haired girl. What troubled her was Ron Weasley’s look of hatred and disgust for the two Slytherins.

“I want all of you to leave this to me. I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.”

Meissa frowns as the Scottish woman gathered up the fallen books and wordlessly handed her stack back to the professor. It was not a promise to deal with the problem but it was better than nothing.

She looked at the Gryffindors to figure out what they were going to do and wasn’t surprised that they didn’t leave to head back out.

“It’s tonight,” Harry muttered, “They’re going through the trapdoor tonight. They have everything they need and Professor Dumbledore’s out of the way.”

Meissa frowns and looked at Daphne, moving closer to whisper. “What are the chances of Professor Dumbledore being caught by a compulsion charm?”

“A powerful wizard like him?” Daphne muttered doubtfully.

“I thought so,” Meissa sighed in annoyance.

“You’re the one who suggested the idea before,” the blonde points out.

“I needed her to think that something is up. And it’s possible that Professor Dumbledore was temporarily snared by the spell before he broke it. But I can’t think of why he would leave. Unless…” she frowns as she thought this new idea out.

“What?”

“What if he wanted to encourage the person to go through the trapdoor?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But whatever the reason… it doesn’t bear any good news.”

They suddenly heard Hermione gasp.

 


	29. Suspicions

Professor Snape was standing there, his black eyes glittering at them. His gaze hard as he eyed the three Gryffindors before he found Meissa and Daphne standing a little bit away from them. His eyebrow quirking up slightly at the sight of his two snakelings in the presence of three lions.

“Good afternoon,” he said smoothly, eyeing the group. Meissa tilted her head and he noted the look on her face - she wanted to say something to him later. Yet none said anything to him in return to his greeting. “You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,” he continued.

“We were -,” Harry began before he fell quiet.

“You want to be more careful,” the Potion Master drawls, prompting Meissa to arch an eyebrow at him. What was he up to? “Hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Gryffindor really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?”

Meissa watched as Harry flushed - that was a bit too sore of a spot for anyone to hit. The trio tuned to head out but Meissa and Daphne made no move to leave, deciding they should speak with their Head of House.

“Be warned, Potter,” Snape called to them, “Any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.” With that he gestured for his snakelings to follow him and left the trio to their musings.

Wordlessly Meissa followed along with Daphne by her side until they were out of the Gryffindors’ hearing range.

“Dare I ask why you were in the company of the lions?” Snape drawls as he looked at his goddaughter and her friend.

“Would you believe me if I said we’re friends?” Meissa questioned idly, her eyes glinting with suppressed amusement. The Potion master arched an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t think so,” she grinned.

“What trouble are you getting into?”

“Mm… I think trouble has already been invited into Hogwarts,” Meissa remarks idly. “Considering what’s hidden on the third floor.” 

He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “When did you find out about that?” He didn’t bother asking how she found out - he knew that she wasn’t one to give up her secrets if it wasn’t life threatening.

“Honestly,” Daphne spoke up for the first time, “I think Professor Dumbledore telling everyone that a place is off limits only makes it that much more attractive.”

“You went looking?!”

“Nope,” Meissa tilted her head as she looked at her godfather. “It was a late night mishap earlier in the year.” He eyed her sternly but she refused to back down.

“How much do you know?”

“Enough to know that someone is after it. Although, I’m curious as to how Professor Dumbledore could think he could protect something that valuable in a school full of students. I mean - the youngest are eleven and he stored that thing here?”

He frowns at her, her words bothering him for some reason but he couldn’t figure out what. “I know you. You wouldn’t mention this unless you have a point.” He was thinking rapidly, trying to figure out what was bothering him while at the same time thinking about where she was going with this particular line of thought.

“You’re right, I do have a point. Professor Dumbledore isn’t here and according to Potter and Draco there was something in the forest, something desperate enough to drink the blood of a slain unicorn.”

His frown worsen as he considered what she was saying. “I haven’t heard about the unicorns…”

“Whatever is desperate enough to kill a unicorn and drink it’s blood is desperate enough to go through whatever defenses you have set up.” Meissa’s eyes were dark as she stared up at her godfather. “Desperate and clearly capable of murder to reach it’s end goal.”

Which meant that everyone in the castle was in danger. Snape could recognize this and had to wonder who taught his goddaughter to think like this. A part of him recognized that she had always thought like this, ever since she was old enough to appreciate a game of chess. Still… with everything that happened when Meissa was eight he knew that part of her personality was a result of that time.

There was a large part of him that regretted what had happened, he felt like he failed her as a godfather.

“Who else knows about the third floor?” he finally asks, mentally pushing the memories and thoughts back into their proper pools. He can dwell on them later when he’s alone in his chambers.

He watched as his goddaughter shared a look with Greengrass before she crossed her arms. “Your least favorite Gryffindors.”

“Potter knows?!” Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking about all the ways Potter would botch this up with his recklessness.

Meissa frowns at him. “I don’t know what’s your problem against Potter but for now he has not done anything to you.” She looks at him sternly. “He has not earned this… anger you have towards him.”

“I do not know what you are speaking of.”

She gave him a look that told him she didn’t believe that. “Don’t make me say this more than once,” she spoke in an even tone, ignoring the uncomfortable look on her friend’s face, “Whatever you have against Potter, I want to drop it or at least treat him civilly.”

He glares at her in warning. “Are you telling me what to do?” His tone held a warning for her to tread lightly.

She just gave him a look that spoke of how serious she was in regard to this matter. “Is that all, Professor Snape?”

He looks at her for another moment before he dismissed the two of them with a single warning: “Stay out of trouble.”

The finger wave he got from his goddaughter told him just what he needed to know about what she would do.

He needed to find Minerva.

~MJB~

“Meissa,” Daphne muttered, looking up from the journal she had open in her lap. The raven haired girl had been pacing their dorm room for quite some time now - since they’ve returned to the Slytherin Common room. “Granger just wrote us a message,” she muttered.

“Hold on,” the raven haired girl flicked her wrist, her wand sliding into her palm with ease. With a wave of her wand she established a privacy ward around them and made sure to lock the door tight to keep the others out until they were ready. “What did she say?”

“Potter’s going to try for the Stone first,” Daphne answered, studying the journal. “Weasley and Granger are going with him.”

“Of course they are,” Meissa groaned, shaking her head. With a grim look on her face she braided her hair back and opened up her trunk. She glanced through the trunk for a moment before she shook her head and closed the trunk. She taps it once with her wand before opening it again - she barely even looked through it before closing it again and tapped it once more. She did this for a grand total of five times before she finally found what she was looking for.

Daphne had been watching this with an amused look on her face, writing to Hermione that Meissa looked like she was getting ready.

“Hermione is saying you shouldn’t get in trouble too,” Daphne said as she read. “Apparently McGonagall caught Weasley and Potter near the door.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Meissa remarked as she sets out a robe, a pair of trousers, and a shirt, along with a pair of boots.

“What is all this?”

“I’m being prepared.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Hey, they’re planning on going through seven defenses just to get the Stone. And we can expect trouble in the form of a Dark Wizard. I’m justified to be paranoid.”

Daphne only rolled her eyes at her but diverted her eyes when she saw that Meissa was pulling off her clothes. She couldn’t think of a time when the other girl was willing to undress in the essence of another - she could suppose that it was a good indication of how serious she thought the whole situation was if she wasn’t willing to waste time going to the loo to change.

As Meissa was changing Daphne decided to question Hermione about the plan. “They’re going tonight - they’re going to use the cloak.”

“The one he got back from Dumbledore?”

“Supposedly.” Meissa rolled her eyes at Daphne’s comment but didn’t say anything in response. “Anyway, they plan on leaving after everyone has gone to sleep.”

“Of course,” Meissa mutters, tucking the hem of her shirt into her trousers. Daphne couldn’t help but notice - after seeing that Meissa was decent once more - that the other girl looked rather imposing clad completely in black. “Alright, do we have a plan?”

“You mean you’ll actually listen to other ideas beside going to receive the stone?” Daphne mock gasped, receiving a light glare from the other girl. “Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall knows - why don’t we leave this in their hands?”

“I’m not against the idea,” Meissa replied as she dug out a vest, shrugging the material on, buttoning it up. “But somehow I doubt Potter will listen to us if we tell him to.”

“Okay, so what do you suggest?”

“One of us goes down with him and the other stays back as a back up?”

Daphne looked her friend over. “I take it that it’ll be you who goes down with him?” She made a gesture to the outfit her friend was wearing. “I mean - what is all this?”

“Dragon hide trousers, vest, and robes,” Meissa pointed to each, “Oh and boots.”

“Wow… that had to cost you a lot of money.”

“My godfather is a bit paranoid,” was Meissa’s only response as she slid on the open front robe. “Anyway, you stay here and wait an hour before finding Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“Yes. It’s after supper and it’s almost time for light’s out.” She shuts the curtains around her bed and cast a strong notice-me-not to keep the others from noticing that she’s not in bed. “They’ll be leaving soon and I need some time to get up to the third floor. If I’m lucky I’ll catch them before they enter the room.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Well… Hagrid did say a bit of music makes Fluffy fall asleep. I should be able to do something.”

“You’re not exactly reassuring me,” Daphne crossed her arms at her friend.

“Sorry. Anyway, I’ll be careful.” 

With a reluctant sigh Daphne nods her head and watched as Meissa twirled her wand around herself, her body quickly blending in with the background. “Do I want to know how you even know that spell?”

“What, I read ahead.” It was a bit odd to hear her but not see her.

“That’s not even in our textbooks,” Daphne retorts.

“You read ahead too?” There was a hint of laughter in Meissa’s voice before Daphne felt the privacy wards fall. Once the door opened - and then closed - Daphne knew that her friend was gone.

How was this at all a good idea?

~MJB~

Severus was growing increasingly aggravated as the day went on. Ever since his goddaughter had made her points - about the Stone - he knew that there was something wrong with the picture. But he couldn’t figure out what it was - each attempt had his thoughts sliding to another topic, which caused him to realize that someone had placed a notice-me-not charm on the memories. So he meditated.

He sought out the memories related to the stone - which turned out to be a long task - and shifted through them until he found a memory that didn’t sit right with him.

It had a shiny appearance to it - something he knew indicated a modified memory. But who would have modified his memory? And when?

The magic behind the memory charm was too powerful for him to break on his own. Even then he knew that memory charms were a dangerous thing to break randomly and unsupervised. He knew from studies made on the topic that a person can become insane when the charms are broken without warning. The sudden influx of suppressed memories often cause the person to struggle coping with the memories. The mind could reject the original memories in favor of the familiar - the modified memories - and in doing so cause some damage.

With the knowledge that his memories are currently off limits for the time being he decided to approach McGonagall, maybe she could help him. There was something about the magic that told him that he was familiar with the person who had cast the spell on him. And that was a very short list in his opinion.

He also kept an eye out for any oddity as he swept through the castle to Minerva’s office. Normally he would floo her but he wanted the walk to clear his mind. There was plenty he felt they needed to address before the night’s over.

So when he found himself standing before her office’s door he took a second to center himself before knocking sharply on her door.

What a sight he must’ve been, for Minerva to pause after opening the door. But she invited him in once she took note of the look on his face.

“Tea?” she offered, shutting the door behind him.

“No thank you. I bring... troubled news.”

“Oh? And what news would that be?” Minerva questions, adopting her Deputy Headmistress persona.

“My students mentioned something to me that has me troubled,” Snape starts off in an even tone. “Apparently, we did not factor in idle curiosity when Dumbledore announced that the third floor corridor would be off limits.”

Minerva’s eyes widened slightly before she frowns at him. “Would these students of yours be Miss Black and Miss Greengrass?”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I take it that you had a similar conversation with them?”

“They were in the company of three of my students,” Minerva remarks drily, thinking about the information the young Black heiress had dropped upon her. It made her uneasy that someone could figure out the traps established by the staff. “Tell me, is she normally so…”

“I assume you’re talking about Miss Black.” He got the barest of acknowledgement from her. “I believe that the best way to describe her would be to say she is realistic. Unfortunately she had some experience when she was a child that has jaded her to the whole world.” 

“You’ve mentioned this before,” Minerva remarks, recalling their previous conversation after the fiasco with the stone flesh curse. It had been an informative conversation at the time and she had already made a note to give the young girl more challenging material for her second year since she has proven already to be advanced for her age. “I remember seeing her when she was… how old was she at the time?” Minerva paused as she tried to remember.

“She was five,” Severus answers, guessing at what the Scottish woman was trying to recall, “She stayed with me for the school year as Lord Pollux Black has declared.”

Minerva shook her head. She could remember the girl - if only just - and she had often been in the company of a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. She remembered the Hufflepuff - she had been subject to all kinds of harassment after her third year if the Transfiguration Professor remembered right. Her metamorphagy had made her the subject of many requests - typically boys with the occasional girls - that were sexual in nature. The Ravenclaw had actually been one of the few true friends of the Hufflepuff, willing to defend the Hufflepuff from all manners of people regardless of punishments.

She remembered that Meissa had shown up just before Halloween with her Grandfather, Lord Pollux Black, and was given over to Severus Snape. The Hufflepuff had been a Second year, if she remembered right, and the Ravenclaw was a Third year - both too young to be babysitting but had often volunteered to watch after the younger girl.

But she did remember a few things were different then and now. For one, she distinctly remember that the Black Heiress had a shade of brown that had natural red highlights. She hadn’t even recognized the girl when she had seen her name on her list - the thick black mane of curls was a stark contrast from the girl she had known nearly six years prior. And she had looked even more like her mother than she had originally.

In fact, the eerie resemblance to her mother is the source of Minerva’s discomfort because in many ways she feels she had failed the eldest of the Black sisters. She often wondered if she could have led Bellatrix Black down a better path. That sense of regret is now the leading cause for her to strive and do better with Bellatrix’s daughter.

“How did she go from being such a happy child to… being a realistic?” Minerva asks now that she remembered the child from back then.

“It is… not my place to say. If we ever come to a moment when you absolutely need to know then I will tell you then.” Minerva frowns at him, thinking, before nodding her head slightly. 

She would respect Severus’ decision as the girl’s godfather.

“What do you suggest we do in regards of the Stone?” she finally asked, returning them to the original topic.

“Is the stone safe for the time being?”

“There is nothing to suggest that the stone is in immediate risk,” she answers, frowning as she remembered what Meissa had said. “However… it’s troubling to know that Miss Black is fully aware of what had gone into the stone’s defense.”

Snape looked at her sharply. “She did not mention anything of the like to me. How much do they know?”

“Enough to indicate that they know who contributed to the defenses…” McGonagall frowns slightly, trying to recall the details of the earlier conversation. “I’m unsure if Miss Black has any idea of what exactly has gone into the defenses but it is troubling, to say the least.” Her lips thin slightly as she thought about the girl’s words. “Mr. Potter seems to believe that the stone will be stolen tonight.”

“What? Why does he think that?”

She arched an eyebrow at him briefly - it did not escape her notice that the usual hostile tone was strangely absent in the Potion Master’s voice. “He seems to believe that You-Know-Who is behind the plot to steal the stone.”

“WHAT?!”

McGonagall had expected a reaction like this when she spoke so she was not shocked - too much - by the sudden shout as the wizard leapt to his feet. She stayed seated as she watched the Potion Master pace the office, waiting patiently for him to recompose himself.

"How can they be so sure that it is him?" Snape finally voiced, his frantic pacing slowing. She felt that he had composed himself enough to hear her words now.

"I am unsure of how Mr. Potter is so sure of this but his friends - Miss Black to be more specific - pointed out that Dumbledore's departure is suspicious."

Snape looked at her puzzled. "What do you mean? Meissa only mentioned that he is not here - how is his departure suspicious?"

Minerva frowns slightly as she realized that most of the staff would be unaware of Dumbledore's absence since he only stayed long enough to inform her of his departure. "Headmaster Dumbledore has left on a broom this afternoon after an owl arrived with an urgent message from the Ministry of Magic."

"Urgent?" Snape repeated, "And he left on a broom? A school broom?"

She pauses as she recalled the moment he left and realized that yes, he had left on a school broom. And it was a well known fact among the staff that the school's brooms should have been replaced ages ago.

Thinking about the brooms she wondered about how to get the money to replace the brooms and why the money they receive from tuitions has never been used to improve things around Hogwarts? And she vaguely remembered that some of the parents would occasionally donate money to the school - where have the money gone?

She knew that there was an insane amount of paintings and pictures around Hogwarts - the amount have been steadily added to since Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster. Several ornate things have become a fixture in Hogwarts - she muses to herself - but was she really thinking that he was dipping into the school’s funding to pay for all of this?

“I personally witnessed him leaving,” Minerva tells him, “He left by broom this afternoon - just ten minutes before Mr. Potter and his friends came searching for  him.” 

“Why would he leave by broom if it was urgent?” Snape asked, the corners of his lips turned down as he pondered this. “He would’ve been back already if he had floo’d to the Ministry or apparated.”

“Your goddaughter made the same point.”

He looks at the Scottish woman, troubled by this.

~MJB~

Meissa was grumbling to herself as she stalked through the corridors - it had taken a clever bit of effort and magic to slip out of the common room when she decided that the stragglers were taking too long in heading up to bed.

It was one thing to celebrate the end of the exams and quite another thing to be staying up to an insane time in the night. Luckily a few whispers here and there, suggesting that their Head of House will show up to punish any night owls, got them to retreat to their rooms. Once she was absolutely positive that there was no one around to witness the opening and closing of the entrance she was gone.

Except now she had to deal with the prefect patrols, the few professors roaming the halls, and of course the ghosts. Every time she heard someone approaching she made herself scarce or - in the few occasions when she couldn’t get away quick enough - small to avoid detection. As luck would have it the professors were often preoccupied with getting through their patrols fast enough to return to bed and the prefects were hardly aware enough to be on the look out for students out of bed. The ghosts - well, she figured they could detect her so she made sure she didn’t linger around long enough.

She was nearing the third floor when Peeves zoomed right by her, muttering to himself about not troubling ‘Mr. Baron’. It was the strangest thing so far and it made her curious as to what could’ve happened to garner such a reaction from the poltergeist.

She continued down the corridor to the staircase that would lead her to the third floor. She frowns to herself as she searched the area - wondering where Peeves must’ve been before he took flight.

Down the stairs?

There was nothing to indicate that Peeves was up to something - he scarcely went anywhere without causing some kind of mischief.

Up the stairs?

She peered up and just barely spotted the partially loosened carpet on the stairs. So he was there? “Odd,” she mutters to herself, looking into the direction where she had seen Peeves disappear to. Only the Bloody Baron could get that poltergeist to behave but she doubted that the ghost could move that quickly before she arrived.

While puzzled by this she knew that there were more important things to worry about - like getting to the third floor corridor before Harry and his friends went in without her.

 


	30. Gryffindor Bravery or Idiocy?

Meissa frowns as she waited around outside the door. It’s been about twenty minutes since she arrived at the door and there was still no sign of them showing up.

Was it possible that she missed them?

“Ugh,” she muttered in frustration before she decided to check the room with the Cerberus - what were the chances that she completely missed them?

She cracks the door open, her eyes immediately tracking the positions of the three heads. Each one of them was awake and snarling down into a hole in the ground - wait.

Hole in the ground?

The trap door!

“I missed them!” she exclaims in frustration, the three heads immediately turning towards her. “Oh bugger,” she winces as she shuts the door, the barks, growls, and snarls of the Cerberus still audible through the door.

Okay, she can do this… right?

She shakes her head and brought forward all of her determination - okay, really its stubbornness - and gripped her wand tightly. First thing first, what was the Cerberus’ weakness?

Music - she remembered that one easily. She could probably get away with humming a few bars if the noise doesn’t overwhelm her.

With a frown she tried to recall a melody - any really - that could help but none was coming to mine.

“Of all the times for this,” she groans in frustrating before she simply started to hum.

…

Was it her imagination or did the Cerberus sound quieter?

“You think if you set the price they’ll turn me in,” she starts off softly, transitioning to a song from her childhood, “You think that when I’m up upon the pike you’ll win…” It wasn’t her imagination - the dog was actually quieting. “They’ll say that I was fighting for the spirit of the law… What will they say about you… when I’m gone.” She took the chance to open the door, almost sighing in relief when she saw that the Cerberus’ head was resting on its paws. “You murdered and you stole. You mocked the hope I gave,” she continued to sing, edging around the Cerberus. “Though I’d prefer a happy end no man can cheat the grave…” She scarcely paused as she crouched down by the open trapdoor. “I know they’ll remember…” she lowered her voice, her eyes intent on the Cerberus. (1)

Confident she took a deep breath and jumped down into the trapdoor. 

Only belatedly realizing that she should checked to make sure that there was something to cushion her landing. Cringing she tried to brace herself for impact.

Prepared for pain she was shocked when, instead of landing on stone, she landed on something soft. It was odd, she noted as she used her sense of touch as she tried to accustom her eyes to the gloom of the area. It was a soft landing but the texture didn’t feel anything like a pillow or anything she’d expect to be used as a landing pad.

Shaking her head she dismissed it and got to her feet…

Or, at least she tried to get to her feet.

There was something curling around her knees.

“Devil’s Snare!” she exclaimed in recognition when she grabbed at the vines tightening around her legs. Thankful that she had kept her wand in hand she pointed down towards the plants, squinting her eyes shut as she shouted, “Lumos Solem!!” (2)

The bright light - as bright as the sun really - filled the entire room, nearly blinding her but managing to do exactly what it was intended to do, force the plant back. Grimacing she force the shiver of disgust away and got to her feet, her eyes having located a stone passage just before being blinded.

Rubbing at her eyes she made her way down the passageway, noting that the way seemed to be slopping down - just how far down was the stone?

She grimaces when she felt the wetness of the stone walls and, casting Lumos, was only vaguely relieved to find that it was simply water and not something more…

She had to force herself from continuing that line of thought.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been traveling but soon enough she heard something similar to the rustling of clothes and… clinking?

Meissa started to mutter angrily under her breath, hurrying her pace to get to the end of the passage, her eyes blinking when she finally stepped into a brilliantly lit chamber. She barely had the presence of mind to mutter the cancelling spell for the Lumos spell. She looked around, frowning in dismay when she saw that Harry and the others were nowhere in sight - looks like she still had a bit more to go before she found the trio.

Crossing the room she took notice of the high arching ceiling and the small jewel-bright… things fluttering and tumbling about above her. “Curious,” she muttered before she focused on the heavy wooden door in front of her.

Testing the door she could only roll her eyes when she found it to be locked. “Of course…” She frowns thoughtfully at the handle before deciding it was worth a try to use the Alohomora spell. She wasn’t surprised to find that it wouldn’t unlock. “Fluffy,” she scoffed at the inappropriate name, “is Hagrid’s. Devil’s Snare was Professor Sprout’s.” She looks up towards the ceiling, watching for a moment before she realized they were keys. “This seems like Professor Flickwick’s work,” she mumbles to herself.

She took another look at the handle, noticing that the metal seemed rather old and most of the keys above her head seemed new. Probably conjured up by Professor McGonagall. So chances are the old one among the bunch was the key to the lock.

She took a look around and found a few brooms tossed aside - three to be exact. “Ugh, I don’t have time to be flying,” she muttered as she fingers her wand, staring up at the keys as she searched for the right one.

“There!” she muttered, locating a slim brass key with a very battered look to it. “Accio brass key!” she tried and to her shock it worked. The key impacting her in the chest before she recover from her shock.

She had to hurry to catch it before it flew off again and unlocked the door, slipping past it with ease.

This chamber was already completely lit up. And she could see that she was standing on the edge of a huge chessboard - with three very familiar Gryffindors in the place of black chess pieces.

“‘Mione!” she shouts out to the bushy haired girl, about to make her way to her.

“Don’t move!” Harry and Ron yelled.

She froze in midstep - just about to step onto the chess board. Her eyes quickly taking in the whole scene and realized just what she had been about to do. She took in the sights and noticed immediately that Hermione was the castle and that Harry was the bishop. She wasn’t at all amused to realize that Ron was the knight. Does he see himself the knight in shining armor?

Already she could see that Harry was in danger of being taken out and Ron was just in the right position to rescue him. And off to the side she could see a pile of broken black chess pieces - she wasn’t impressed to find that the white pile was smaller than the black’s.

It was clear to her that the game wasn’t going in Ron’s favor.

“How long have you been at this?” she inquired as Ron moved to rescue Harry - taking out the white piece that been bearing down upon him.

“Ten minutes? Give or take a few,” Hermione answered distractedly, making sure she didn’t move from her square.

“Okay, that’s it,” Meissa declared, “Ron, I’m taking over!”

“What?! You can’t do that!”

“Your moves has put Potter in danger! And don’t forget I’ve beaten you in five separate rounds!”

“She does have a point,” Harry remarked from his place. “Maybe we should let her play.”

“You’re going to trust a slimy snake?!”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped before Meissa could say anything. “Stop insulting Meissa! She’s proven herself multiple times!”

“She’s a Slytherin! She knows how to manipulate people! She even confessed this!” Ron protested while Meissa was observing the board, thinking quickly to come up with a viable plan. She saw that the board was, in her opinion, a mess.

One of the white knights was deep within the black’s side of the board, a rook was in the position to take out a few pieces and the king was tucked away in the corner of the board. The queen was out of action too and there was only one pawn even remotely close to reaching the other side of the board to be crowned as a rook, bishop, knight, or queen. Except there was the white queen in the way.

She could see that she had both bishops - why did the group see it was necessary to take the places of the black pieces? - both rooks, and both knights.

“I’m kind of curious about something,” she spoke up, interrupting the heated argument between Ron and Hermione. “Why did you guys take the places of the pieces?”

“It was obvious!” Ron exclaims, “There was three empty spaces and the other pieces were already broken!”

“Then why not use the mending charm?” she asked, sounding a bit exasperated by the trio. She would’ve thought that Hermione considered using the spell.

“Uh,” Harry looked at the rabble that surrounded them.

Frustrated with the group she turned to the broken rabble and, with her wand in hand, intoned forcefully, “REPARO!”

The wave of magic washed over the chess pieces and the trio watched in awe as the broken pieces came together to form the chess pieces that had been already removed from the game - including the bishop, rook, and knight they had taken over for.

“Oh…” Hermione muttered quietly. When she looked towards the bushy haired girl she saw that the other girl was shaking her head, covering her face with a hand.

“Did we have to take the places of the chess pieces?” she inquired to the pieces - and watched as the nearest one shook its’ head no. “If one of us had won the game would we have won passage for all?” This time she received a nod.

“Oh for the love of!” Hermione shook her head in exasperation. “Meissa, take charge of this game now! I can’t believe I let Ron tell me what to do! What was I thinking!”

“I take it you didn’t ask these questions?”

“No!” Harry was glaring at Ron who looked a little pale as now two of the Gryffindors were glaring at him. “In hindsight we should’ve!”

“But -!”

The glares from the other two silenced him from before he could protest and Meissa looked thoughtfully at him. She had some suspicions about the whole situation but didn’t have enough information to feel confident in voicing them.

She took a good look at the board again. The position of the pieces were awkward and trying to turn this about wouldn’t be easy in her opinion. But she wasn’t exactly going to let Weasley risk Hermione’s life - and Harry.

When did she unknowingly modify the terms of the deal?

How did she go from protecting Harry from the extremes of Draco’s ire to rushing head first into danger?

She mentally took the thoughts and shoved them into the pools so she could focus on the game. It was white’s turn - has it already made it’s move? She thought quickly as she compared the positions to the ones she had mentally noted when she first arrived.

It was her turn.

“Bishop to E4!” she ordered briskly, her eyes darting over the board.

She shudders as the grating noise of stone against stone filled the air as the bishop moved into place, now it was in place to take out one of the Rook’s.

Rook to D7 - was the white preparing for her moves?

“Bishop to B1!”

She watched as the bishop took the rook closest to Harry. With the queen taking the pawn at D4. Moving her rook to C1 placed the White king in check, forcing the queen to step in to defend him, allowing for her to remove the queen from play. Ah, now she understood why the white rook was moved to D7 as it moved to take out the rook at D1.

“Bishop to C5,” she looked at Harry, watching him as he looked around before he walked over to the location, putting the king into check. There was several ways this could’ve gone, in her opinion, but was interested by the fact they moved their rook to D4 instead of moving their king.

“Bis-,” she started to say before she saw Ron moving to H3. “Ron!” she snarled at the defiant boy, now having to adjust her plans due to his actions. “DON’T MOVE UNLESS I TELL YOU!!”

“I placed him in check though!” he protested.

“SHUDDUP AND JUST LISTEN!” she shouted as the King moved to H1.

“Bishop to D4!” she yelled, struggling to keep her magic from lashing out, she could feel the tension in her skin, the spark of magic dancing along her knuckles.

That took out the rook like she wanted to.

Knight to G6 to place her king in check, simple to solve with one of the pawns moving to take it out. She wasn’t sure why that knight was moved since there was two other pieces available that could’ve moved.

King to G2.

“Ron,” she glares at the ginger haired boy, “F4.”

He glared back at her but moved as ordered, placing the king into check once more. This time the king moved back to H1 and she seized the chance to move the other bishop to E4, placing the king in checkmate.

“Whoa,” Hermione breathed in awe, looking back and forth between Meissa and the defeated King whom had just took off his crown and thrown it down to the ground. The chessmen bows and parted, leaving the path to the door clear.

“I could’ve done that,” Ron grumbled as they headed to the door.

“Ron, in the two minutes I was in the room I saw Harry’s life placed in direct path of danger,” Meissa glared at the Gryffindor boy. “Not once did I put Harry, Hermione, or even you in danger,” she stated flatly, “In fact, the only time you were in danger when I took over was when you _foolishly_ rushed ahead to place the king in check before I was ready to checkmate him!”

Ron glared stubbornly back at her and she knew that he would insist that he had a foolproof plan.

So she ignored him, her wand held up before her, the tip alit with the light spell as she led the way. 

“What do you reckon’s next?” Harry asks as they walked along the corridor.

“We’ve had Professor Sprout’s,” Hermione reasons, “Professor Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys. I think Professor McGonagall must’ve transfigured the chessmen.”

“She may have already taken a set and enlarged them,” Meissa adds her two cents.

“Right, so that leaves Professor Quirrell’s, Professor Snape’s and… Headmaster Dumbledore,” Hermione concludes, hesitating slightly on the Headmaster’s name.

Meissa would’ve commented on this but had gotten distracted by another door. She whispers ‘nox’, extinguishing the light and plunging them into the gloom of the corridor before she opened the door. Trusting - hoping really - that the others would keep quiet until they’ve had a chance to assess what was the next trial.

Within seconds of opening the door Meissa was holding the front of her shirt to her noise as a disgusting smell overwhelmed her senses. Revulsion grips her as she entered the room, her wand out and ready as she took stock of her surroundings. Lying flat on the ground was a troll, larger than the one from Halloween with a pool of something red spreading on the ground.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,” Harry whispered as Meissa stepped around the pool - her eyes hardening as she realized that it was blood. She looked to the others and saw that only Hermione realized what it was, her face pale. “Come on,” Harry continued as he headed to the door, “I can’t breathe.

Meissa thought quickly as she considered the ramifications of this. Whoever did this - it has to be Quirrell - meant serious business. Drinking Unicorn blood, killing a troll, seeking the Philosopher’s Stone - all of this meant that this wasn’t a child’s game. And this solidified the thought that the Headmaster was up to something if he was willing to hide a priceless artifact in a school with children on the grounds.

She stared at the troll for a moment longer before she turned around and followed the trio through the door. Feeling a mix of surprised and relief at the sight of seven differently shaped bottles standing on a table in a line.

“Professor Snape’s,” Hermione muttered as they approached the table.

Just as they stepped into the room a fire sprang up behind them in the door way and Meissa, the last to follow, felt the heat at her back and the purple glow it cast into the room. Opposite of them black flames blocked the way onward.

“Look!” Hermione seized a roll of parchment lying next to the bottle as Meissa rounded the table to survey the black flames.

“Danger lies before you,” Hermione read out loud, “while safety lies behind. Two of us will help you.” Meissa turns and went to the Gryffindor girl to read for herself. “Whichever you would find. One among us seven will let you move ahead. Another will transport the drinker back instead. Two among our number holds only nettle wine. Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line. Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore.”

Meissa read ahead of Hermione, noting the four clues. She opens a few of the bottles, cautiously smelling them. Two of them had the same sweet smell from her childhood - nettle wine. Her Aunt Walburga was rather fond of the drink.

The second clue said that the two at the ends were different from one another and she had already identified the second bottle on the far left to be nettle wine, which meant that the first bottle was poison. And the seventh bottle should be a potion - perhaps the one that would send the drinker back? And to the left of sixth bottle, which had nettle wine, would be poison as well. So that leaves only the third and the fourth as a possible path forward.

“Brilliant,” Hermione muttered, distracting Meissa from her thoughts, “This isn’t magic - it’s logic, a puzzle.” Meissa arched an eyebrow at the smile on her face. “A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here forever,” the bushy haired girl remarked and Meissa couldn’t find it in her to dispute this.

The other girl had a good point about it in her opinion.

“So will we!” Ron all but exploded, “How the bloody hell are we supposed to figure this out?!”

Meissa and Hermione rolled their eyes at this. “You’re being dramatic,” Meissa drawls. “Do recall for a moment that Hermione is one of the most brilliant witch here in school or is that too hard for you to understand?”

“Enough,” Harry cuts in before the two of them could start fighting. It didn’t escape his attention that Meissa had a very tight grip on her wand, her knuckles were white as her eyes drilled holes in Ron. “Hermione, can you figure out the riddle?”

“It’s either the third bottle or the fourth. I hadn’t figured out which yet,” Meissa informed the Gryffindor girl through gritted teeth.

Hermione quickly read through the riddle a few more times - Meissa could practically see her mind working in overdrive as she worked through the problem. “She’s right,” Hermione agreed. She pointed at the third bottle, “This one will allow us to move forward.” She pointed to the one at the very end, “This one will take us back.”

Meissa took up the third bottle, eyeing the blue liquid and the amount left. “I was right,” she muttered, thinking quickly. “We’re not the first one through here,” she muttered as she uncapped the bottle.

“Snape’s already there??” Ron exclaimed loudly.

“Ron!” Harry and Hermione reprimanded quickly.

Meissa simply rolled her eyes at the red head before she looked at the bottle. She knew her godfather. She knows how he thinks.

So, taking a chance she upended the bottle to the dismay of the others as the potion flowed freely to the ground.

“Why would you do that?!” Harry cried.

“Watched,” was all she said as she capped the potion and set it back on the table.

She could feel the angry glares at her back before they saw the bottle fill up once more to the same amount as before.

“What-,” she heard Harry, prompting her to look over her shoulder to find him gaping at her.

“How did you -.”

“Do you have any idea how much of this stuff would be wasted if you’d just took one tiny bottle?” Meissa rolled her eyes. “Professor Snape isn’t really a wasteful kind of person.”

“How much he have made?” Harry asked softly.

“No idea,” Meissa answered before she looked at Hermione and Ron, her eyes switching to Harry as she thought about what needs to be done. “What do you want to do Harry?”

She watched him for a long moment, her fingers plucking up the bottle when she saw Ron make his way to the table. She wasn’t sure if she was naturally that distrustful or if it was something about Weasley that sets her on edge. But whatever it was she didn’t want Weasley anywhere near them when they’re ready to head forward.

“… Hermione, you and Ron go back out,” Harry finally decided on a course of action.

“What?! Harry-!” Ron protested almost immediately.

“No buts! We need Professor Dumbledore to get back as soon as possible!” Harry argued. “I want both of you to go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him.” He gestures between Meissa and him, “We might be able to hold whoever’s in there for a while but they have the advantage of both years and experience.”

“Why does it has to be the two of you? Why can’t you just come back with us?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Out of the four of us Meissa is the most skilled,” Harry answered, surprising the Slytherin with the compliment. “She knows the in-and-outs of the spells and if… if Voldemort’s in there then I might have the best chance against him.” 

Meissa wasn’t quite so sure about that plan but made no effort to argue that. If Harry wished to continue onwards then that was fine with her. She’ll just have to make sure that he knows to duck and cover when spells start to fly.

Hermione, though, she wanted her nowhere near Quirrell. He wouldn’t hesitate to go for a weakness - or rather, she wouldn’t if she was him. Ron, she didn’t care one iota about him but she didn’t want him anywhere near her. It was best both of them went back the way they came.

“Harry, come on,” she looked towards him before blinking when her mind registered that Hermione had him in a tight hug.

“Be careful Harry!” she gave her one last plea before she turned to Meissa and - before the Slytherin could try and escape - hugged her.

The raven haired girl tensing instantly at the tight embrace before she managed to pat the Gryffindor girl on the back. “I’ll bring him back,” she promises softly.

“Stay safe, Meissa, please,” Hermione muttered before she backed away. She picks up the round bottle at the end, looking at the two of them once more, and drank a mouthful of the potion before shuddering. She quickly hands the bottle to Ron who looked warily at it but under the combined stare of the other three he took a drink as well.

Knowing her godfather the Black heiress could only imagine that it felt like her insides were drenched in ice cold water.

“Take care,” Hermione looked at her two closest friends before she grabbed Ron by the elbow and pulled him through the purple fire.

“Ready?” the Black heiress turns to Harry, holding the bottle up.

“No.”

She smiles warily at him.

“I’d be worried about you if you were,” she comments light hearted before downing the potion in a single gulp.

She winces at the feeling of ice stabbing her veins, setting the bottle briefly on the table to trigger the refill enchantment, watching Harry pick up the bottle to do the same.

She took the lead once again, stepping through the black flames with full confidence in her godfather’s potions, and a spell’s incantation on the tip of her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Hero by Heather Dale (I do not own this song! But its a seriously good song so go check it out)  
> 2) **Lumos Solem: Light of the Sun** \- a spell meant to bring forth sunlight or an extremely bright narrow light


	31. What Just Happened?

"You!" Harry exclaimed as she held her wand out, watching the wizard with a wary look on her face. She could see that there was something off about him - the vibe she had felt from him actually stronger this time around.

Tension vibrated through her body as she watches him, noticing the way his face stayed still as he smiled at them. "Me," he said rather calmly, "I had wondered if I'd be meeting you here, Potter." He looked sharply at her, his eyes seemingly tearing through her - searching for a weakness. "Although I had not expected a daughter of the Black family to be joining you."

"Harry," Meissa hissed lowly as she gripped her wand tightly, subtly edging herself into position to protect him. "Your wand! Take out your wand!"

"Oh!" she saw him move from the corner of her eyes as she kept her gaze on Quirrell.

"So there was a reason," she started blandly to distract Quirrell, "for Professor Snape to be confronting you so much."

He laughed, a cold and sharp kind that dug straight into her spine and told her that this was a man who was up to no good. This was a man who was willing do desperate things. "Yes, Severus has been a thorn in my side," he looked practically furious for a long moment. "But he served a purpose. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell."

She didn't care for the mocking tone.

"So, Quirrell, is it you who jinxed Harry's broom that first game?"

"Yes," he grinned, quite proud of himself for the attempt. "It was a pity that Miss Granger broke my concentration - though setting Snape on fire was quite something." He sneered. "Another few seconds and I'd have got him off that broom. Even sooner if he hadn't been muttering a counter curse."

There was a sharp inhalation from Harry as he took that bit of news by surprise.

"He was trying to save me?" Harry mutters.

"Of course," Quirrell said in an extremely icy tone of voice. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match?" Meissa had to admit, in the privacy of her mind, that this was something he would do. But why he would do such a thing - when it's no secret that he was often nick picking on Harry.

Meissa tenses as she sensed him gathering his magic about him and was ready when he jabbed his wand forward - thick ropes conjured and trying to wrap around them.

"Confringo!" she fires off immediately before snapping out a "Reducto!" (1) (2)

In the next instant she shoves Harry to the side, causing him to land behind a nearby pillar as she moved - her 'Reducto' rebounding off the Protego she had expected him to cast. The conjured ropes long since ashes.

"You think you can fight me!" she hears Quirrell laugh. "You must've seen what I did to the troll in the chamber back there!"

"Langlock! Obscuro!" she hisses, flicking her wand at him as she cast spell after spell at him in hope of seeing where his skills lie. (3) (4)

A muffled shout was encouraging in her opinion but when she moved to take advantage of that she saw his eyes glitter angrily at her as he moved his lips - forming some sort of spell.

She scarcely had a thought to move when she found herself being thrown backward.

Her back slamming hard against the ground with a sickening crack and a sharp flare of pain that had her fighting to suppress a scream. Dark spots clouds her vision as she struggled to get up, Quirrell's vicious laughter ringing in her ears, nearly drowning out Harry's worried calls.

"You think you can fight me?" Quirrell was saying, "I know more spells than you've lived!"

Her lip bitten raw as she struggled to get to her feet, "Sh-shut up," she mutters lowly as she held her wand tightly.

"You still wish to fight," Quirrell notes drily. "I cannot tell if you have spunk or if you lost a marble or two when you hit the floor."

Everything was blurring - she was pretty sure she gotten a concussion when she was thrown - but she couldn't, she wouldn't let this end. What chance did Harry have if she couldn't do this? She could buy more time for Hermione - she can do that much.

"Ex-Expelliarmus!" she manages to snap out, "Expulso - Stupefy!" She just threw spell after spell at him, hoping to keep him on the back foot if it was even possible to do so. (5) (6) (7)

Yet, with every spell she threw he simply batted it aside as if it was mere child's play. And a distant part of her recognized that for him, an experienced wizard, of course it would be child's play.

It only made her that much more determined to get better and stronger.

"Avis! Confringo! Confundus!" (8) (9)

He still batted them aside.

She could feel the pain raising and a distant part of her mind seemed to be screaming - and it was growing louder as she fought to distract Quirrell. But there was something else - just underneath the screaming - it felt familiar.

It was a red hot boiling sort of feeling and she knew that it was just the thing she needed to stay focus and not pass out. So she reached for it as she dove to the side under a sickly green spell. Hesitating only briefly when she felt the familiar taste of rage - but the darkening spots in her vision pushed her to ignore the rage and embrace the feeling.

What could go wrong?

~MJB~

Harry had been behind a pillar, thinking as he tried to come up with a plausible plan besides Meissa exchanging spells with Quirrell. He was stumped - he didn't know what to do and Meissa had already taken a bad hit, being thrown like that, and he could see the pain in her movements. She was actually starting to slow.

But right when he had an idea he saw something in Meissa's eyes. They had turned completely glassy and it was bad because she was just kneeling there. In perfect view of Quirrell and his wand.

Just as Quirrell was about to capitalized this he saw something. Something that would stay with him for as long as he lived.

Just as a spell - it was a sickly pale white color and he completely missed the incantation - left Quirrell's wand he saw pure and adulated rage spill through Meissa's eyes. At the same time there was practically an explosion of pure magic that just bounced the spell away and when it hit the pillar he was hiding behind he saw the impact of the spell. Watching as the stone pillar just crumbled away as it turned to sand.

"What in!" Quirrell cried out in shock.

" _I. HATE. YOU!"_  Meissa screamed as her magic lashed out - except, Harry couldn't recognize her voice. It was deeper, almost, it sounded different. And he wasn't sure if it was because she was screaming.  _"DIE!"_

"What are you!" Quirrell cried as he actually blocked the magic being directed at him by the furious Slytherin.

She gave no answer - just screamed furiously as she did some kind of motion with her wand that shot a bright red colored spell.

"Enough…" Harry suddenly heard - it was nothing like Quirrell's voice and yet it came from him. Quirrell's wand moved in an elaborate gesture and the spell from Meissa just trickled off into nothing. Harry could practically see the rage simmering off of Meissa's form. "Power… You have power just like your mother…"

Harry stilled as the words registered and he saw Meissa do the same.

" _You… You're… you're him…"_

"Let me speak to her… face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

" _Yu should know not to speak back against your betters,"_  Meissa sneered and Harry could only watch, petrified, as Quirrell trembled and reached up to unwrap his turban.

The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot. Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

Meissa had a distinctly impassive look on her face but there was that thick heavy rage surging forward at the sight. Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"You are… much like your mother…"

" _You would know,"_  Meissa said in a tone that was dismissive and Harry - as he watched on - saw a flicker of outrage on the face.  _"Seeing as you're the reason I don't see her anymore."_

"Join me… Join me and have unimaginable power…"

" _Join the mad man that took away my mother? I think not!"_

"Then you shall have to die!"

Harry shouted for Meissa just as the two magical auras clashed together into something that was practically visible for him to see. He shuddered at the colors in the two auras - one had a film appearance of something like oil while the other one reminded him of a thunder storm.

"HAHAHAHA! YOU THINK YOU CAN OUTMATCH ME!"

Harry ducks around, realizing that this was an opportunity to get the stone. He had recognized the mirror during the duel between Meissa and Quirrell and he remembered what Dumbledore said when he had last seen it. He snuck around to the mirror, glancing over to the conflict between Meissa and Quirrell. He didn't like that it looked Meissa was being overwhelmed.

He steps in front of the mirror, holding his breath. He saw his reflection, pale and scared looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd gotten the Stone.

Now he just needed to keep it from Quirrell and get Meissa out of this alive.

That shouldn't be a problem, right?

~MJB~

Meissa slowly came to with the sounds of screams echoing in her mind. Her entire body ached and she felt like there was something wet clinging to her left side.

"AAARGH!"

She blinks the spots away, slowly realizing that she wasn't hearing that inside her own head.

Screams of 'KILL HIM! KILL HIM!' was just barely audible against these terrible shrieks that hurts her ears. She squints against the glow of the fire around them to find that Harry was clinging onto Quirrell and he was… crumbling to ashes?

She pulls her arm close to her and tried to push herself upward, her eyes focused on Harry and the stone in his hand. It was while she was looking at him that she noticed a dust cloud with the face of - what is that?!

"Harry! Behind you!" she calls out weakly, coughing when she felt something shift in her side.

She watched him turn and gasp just the dust cloud rushed forward, going through Harry.

"ARRRHHHHHH!"

"AHHHHH!"

"Harry!"

She watched helplessly as he fell back in a dead faint. And the cloud vanished, wailing/screeching loudly.

She grits her teeth against each other and forced herself up onto her feet, an arm pressed protectively against her left side as she shuffled forward.

In what seems like forever she finally reaches him and gratefully drops to her knees next to him, her fingers pressing briefly against his neck. Finding herself grateful for the fact that he was still alive.

"Thanks for not making a liar out of me," she muttered tiredly before she took notice of the stone in his outstretched hand. "The Philosopher's stone," she whispered breathlessly, gingerly picking it up. She holds it up to the flames, looking through the red uncut stone about the size of her fist.

She vaguely remembered reading something about there being fake stones - and that the best way to know if one is holding a true stone or not. A true stone would be able to handle any sort of feats - even, from what she had heard, resurrection. But on top of that it would be impervious to any attempt to destroy it.

After a moment she nods to herself and sets the stone away from her and Harry. With a deep breath she took up her wand - she was glad she hadn't lost it in between passing out and waking up - and tapped the stone with the tip. Muttering a mild version of a blasting curse - expecting the stone to simply amplify the spell.

What really happened was the stone exploded into tiny little pieces, slicing into her exposed flesh and embedding into the dragon hide dueling clothes she had on.

"Whoa," she muttered, brushing herself off. "That's…" she frowns as she considered what this meant. "That's bad…" She shakes her head and looks at Harry's unconscious form and considered her injuries and magic levels.

She felt wiped out - like she expended all of her strength into something… It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to claim she'd be sleeping for a week. Except - she didn't want to be unconscious when they get rescued - because she didn't exactly see a way out from the room surrounded by fire in every direction…

"I'm in so much trouble when Uncle Sevy gets here," she mutters in a matter of fact tone, idly picking at one of the bleeding injuries she had. "I'll be lucky to be able to go to 'Mione's house for the summer."

She looks at Harry for a long moment. "I think I know a spell that could wake you up - but… I'm so bloody tired… I don't suppose you know what happened after I passed out?" She rambled for a long time before the flames finally went out and she saw the silhouette of her godfather, accompanied by Albus Dumbledore.

"Hi!" she called cheerfully as she waved to her godfather - her movements jerky as she started to list off to the side. The pain in her side was actually worse than it had been when she first gain consciousness.

"You foolish girl!" he exclaimed as he went immediately to her side. Leaving Harry to Dumbledore. She didn't mind - she didn't think she'd stay awake much longer to be honest.

"Sorry…" she blinks up at him. "Is… is Potter going to be ok…?"

She could practically feel him sneer at the mention of Harry but the low hum she got from him told her stories. And so she allowed her eyes to close, comforted by the fact that they were safe.

Maybe in hindsight, she'll regret a lot of what happened in the room but right now, with a possible concussion addling her mind, she couldn't really bring herself to care about staying awake.

So she allowed the darkness to reach up and carry her down into sleep, an old lullaby thrumming in the back of her mind.

~MJB~

She slowly became aware, of what she wasn't quite sure but it was gradual awareness. First it was the heavy sensation of her limbs. Just trying to move her arm felt like a lot of effort. She felt a bit ill as she tried to regain control over her body, trying hard to push away the cotton sensation in her mind.

Second was trying to open her eyes, she could tell that there was light where she was - it didn't have the same harsh light as the flames from before so she knows she's safe. She could feel the weight of a blanket on her - the sensation familiar to her from when she was suffering from the stone flesh curse. Once she identified where she was she knew - she knew that she was safe but instantly wanted to get away.

So she turned her attention inward and reached for the cause of the sensation - taking it and slipping it into the pools in the back of her mind, tucking it out of the way so that she could think with clarity.

Almost instantly the heavy sensation along her limbs faded and she could feel what she couldn't before.

Pain.

Exhaustion. Physical. Emotional. Magical?

But she couldn't afford to focus or feel any of them so she slid them away and into the pools, focusing only on getting up and getting out of the Hospital Wing as soon as possible.

It was slow going, moving about and even sitting upright was a struggle. It had her questioning how long she was out. It felt like she had been unconscious for more than a day but until she got to a calendar the chances of her knowing is slim unless she spoke with someone. So long that someone wasn't Madam Pomfrey…

"What are you doing?" she suddenly heard, causing her to tense before she realized who spoke.

She turns towards her best friend who was standing by the curtains that surrounded the bed - she hadn't noticed that they were drawn, giving her some measure of privacy. She saw that she had a bundle of what looked like the school's uniform in her hands and found herself grateful for this.

"I was planning on leaving," she answered honestly, testing her arms. She found no bandages and not a single scar marred her skin. Though she had to wonder if the glamour on her earrings could be expanding to any new scar she acquires… She'll have to question her aunt about that one since she has no idea what were the parameters of the glamour spells.

"Your ribs are still healing," Daphne told her in an icy voice as she walked over to her. "In fact, you shouldn't even be able to move."

"Did Madam Pomfrey use a spell to keep me from leaving the bed?" she asked - recalling a moment when the Medic-Witch had done that after she refused to cooperate and stay in bed.

"No, but you should be in too much pain to be moving."

Meissa pauses as she connected Daphne's words to the pain she had felt earlier. The pain would have kept her bed ridden if she had not chosen to ignore it. "So I should be," she remarked idly, pushing the blankets off of her legs and moving to grab her clothes.

"You're not going to stay here are you," she heard Daphne sigh before the blonde reappeared in her line of sight. She gave the other Slytherin girl a regretful smile only to get an eye roll in retaliation. "Let me help."

"I can handle it."

Daphne gave her a glare that told her not to be dumb and to not question everything. Meissa simply smiled at her and watched as the blonde picked up her shirt. She arched an eyebrow at the other girl as she sorted it out so that it was no longer inside out.

It was when the other girl reached out for her that she had to lean back to avoid her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you change?"

"I don't need you to change my clothes for me," she protested.

"Can you even lift your arm without hurting?" Daphne retorts darkly.

She wasn't even sure if she could but she wasn't in the habit of allowing someone to undress her, or even to dress her. She didn't like the concept of being vulnerable. "Can't I just dress myself?" she narrowed her eyes at the other girl.

"Can you prove to me that you can lift your arm over your head?" Daphne questioned in a tone that burked no arguments. With an irritated look on her face she raised her right arm. "The other one too."

She narrows her eyes even further at the other girl she raised her left arm but only got as far as her shoulder before her side exploded in pain, causing her to gasp out in shock.

"Oh  _Merlin_ …!" she gasps lowly, struggling to breathe through the pain. A distant scream building in the back of her mind - until she shoved it all aside and into the pools

She felt Daphne's hands on her shoulders and looked up at the blonde. "I'm sorry," she heard her say through the haze clouding her mind. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable… but… can you honestly tell me you can dress yourself without help?"

"I…" she closed her eyes tightly, a shiver running through her body and caused a spasm of pain to spear through her mind. She hated this weakness but couldn't she trust Daphne? She trusted her to help her with her potion regime - she can trust her to help her during this moment of weakness… right? "I can't do it by myself," she admits softly and felt Daphne squeeze her shoulder before her touch disappeared.

"Can you focus past the pain?" Daphne asked quietly, gently touching Meissa at her bicep.

She took a moment but she eventually managed to gather up the pain and poured them into the pools, setting them aside so that she could focus on the now. Once she had managed to do that she nodded her head to Daphne's question and told herself that Daphne only wanted to help her.

"I'm going to undo the top," she heard the blonde tell her quietly before she felt her fingers brush against her neck, snagging onto the material and gently undoing the buttons before sliding it off. "Arms," she heard her mutter and she silently lifted her arms so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves. She averts her eyes as Daphne adjusted the shirt to align the buttons.

Both girls averting their eyes from each other as the shirt was buttoned up.

Once that was done all that was left was the trousers, and both weren't sure how they were going to handle this. Meissa was already uncomfortable allowing someone else to dress her and Daphne had to admit - in the privacy of her own mind - that she hadn't really thought this through.

She just knew that Meissa couldn't do a lot of things on her own due to her ribs still being bruised despite the magic Madam Pomfrey had worked on her. She had questioned the Medic-Witch about her friend and knew that it was too early to say that Meissa was completely healed from her ordeal - something about her body being resistant to being healed by external magic.

So she knew that for the Medic-Witch to release her Meissa would have to spend more than a few days in the Hospital Wing. But the chances of the Black heiress doing something like willingly once she woke up? It was slim and it was simply better to keep an eye on her after she wakes up instead of having to chase her down. So that's why she was helping Meissa get ready to make an escape from the Hospital Wing instead of scolding her and fetching the Medic-Witch.

Once the last button was done Daphne reached for the trousers.

"So… how do you want to approach this?" she asked instead of ordering Meissa to stand up so she could take off the pajama bottoms.

"I imagine I won't be able to bend," Meissa remarked drily.

"Likely not."

"Close your eyes?"

Daphne arched an eyebrow but nodded her head slightly in agreement. So she helped Meissa up to her feet and - shutting her eyes - fumbled in helping Meissa remove the bottoms. She held the trousers out for Meissa to step into them, supporting her when she felt the other girl's hand on her shoulder.

It didn't take them long to get the trousers on right and for Meissa to button them up properly. After that it was a simple matter of getting Meissa's socks and shoes on.

"Finally," Meissa breathed, grateful that the whole experience was finally over and that she could now make her grand escape from the Hospital Wing. She picks up her wand holster, strapping it into place but frowned when she saw that her wand wasn't secured within the leather holster. "Where's my wand?"

"Huh," Daphne looked at the table that held Meissa's dragon hide clothing. She quickly rummaged through them but found nothing but blood for her trouble. "It's not in here."

Daphne looked over to the other girl and saw how her eyes darkened as something akin to pure rage began to grip her friend.

If there was one thing she had learned about her friend, Meissa was deeply possessive about her wand. She wasn't sure about the reason behind it but she knew that if Meissa's wand doesn't show up any time soon, the whole wing will be turned to shambles.

"Let me go check and see if Madam Pomfrey has it," she told the other girl, hoping she could ward off the explosion of anger.

The dark glitter in her friend's eyes told her that she best hurry.

The blonde Slytherin turned about and all but ran for the Medic-Witch's office, grateful that she was out of the wing for the moment. " _Accio_  Meissa's wand!" she intoned, desperation coloring her words against her better judgment.

She felt an immense sense of relief when she saw one of the drawers rattle in response to the spell. With a glance around to reassure herself that the Medic-Witch hadn't shown up in the last few seconds she enters the office and made her way to the drawer. With her wand in hand she tested the drawer, reassuring herself that it was locked and hoped that a simple 'Alohomora' would work.

She hissed the spell under her breath but frowned when she didn't hear the click that indicated that the drawer had unlocked. Of course it wouldn't be that easy…

"Daphne," she heard Meissa's voice behind her, nearly causing her to jump from the suddenness of hearing someone behind her.  _"Step aside."_

The blonde looked at her best friend, stunned to realize that the dark glitter in her eyes had turned into open rage. And at the same time she realized that she could scarcely recognize her friend's voice. It sounded deeper - almost guttural as opposed to the expressive one she normally had, it was the kind that inspired protectiveness from those who truly knew her. Except right now, it sounded like someone took her voice and pushed it through a meat grinder and then tried to put it back together with tape and glue.

"Meissa?"

Dark eyes cut into her and all she knew was rage burning deep through her.  _"Move. Aside. Now."_

Daphne hastened aside, aware that in the deepest part of her mind that something was wrong as the Black heiress reached her hand out to the drawer.  _"Accio!"_  The drawer rattled but didn't budge.  _"ACCIO!"_  The rattle was even more violent than before but it still did not budge. Daphne watched as her friend narrowed her eyes even more and the thick feeling of rage surrounding both of them grew even worse.

And the pure magic that apparently belonged to Meissa seemed to thicken even more strongly than before. She felt like she was going to suffocate. It was feeling that worsened as Meissa reached her hand out for the drawer and clenched her hand into a fist and yanked.

The explosion of magic threw her back and she lost all sense of thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spells  
> 1)  **Confringo**  - explodes flames at the target (curse)  
> 2)  **Reducto**  - blasts solid objects aside (spell)  
> 3)  **Langlock**  - glues opponent’s tongue to the roof of their mouth (spell)  
> 4)  **Obscuro**  - blindfolds the victim (spell)  
> 5)  **Expelliarmus**  - disarms your opponent (spell)  
> 6)  **Expulso**  - makes objects explode (spell)  
> 7)  **Stupefy**  - knocks out opponent (spell)  
> 8)  **Avis**  - launches birds from your wand (spell)  
> 9)  **Confundus**  - used to confuse opponents (charm)


	32. Unexplained Weirdness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you're having a good month so far. For the new/recent followers, welcome to the story. To my old and returning readers, welcome back to yet another chapter! Now I want to comment that we're getting pretty close to the end of book one (canon). At the moment I'm considering if it's a good idea to continue the whole seven books in this one story or split it all up into seven books. If you have any opinions or suggestion please let me know in a review or a pm.
> 
> Enjoy!

Black spots darkened her vision but her hearing was still _fine_ and she could hear the triumph laughter that seemingly echoed through her mind as she struggled to get back to her feet. But just as she got her legs under her she felt a familiar hand wrap around her bicep and she accepted the help to her feet.

"What happened?" she hears Meissa ask, puzzled, as she blinked away the shadows from her eyesight.

She rubs her eyes and blinks at Meissa who's eyes were clear and confused as opposed to the dark rage that had clouded them earlier. Daphne could only blink at her as she realized, belatedly, that Meissa's voice had lost that guttural tone from earlier - once again smooth and drawing trust once more.

"I… don't know," she confessed thoughtfully, looking at her friend in confusion. "We should go before someone comes to investigate," she gently grabs her friend's hand and pulled her from the Hospital Wing - just barely having the presence of mind to grab the other girl's clothing from her abandoned bed.

There were things that made no sense - like where did that rage come from and that explosion of magic - but there was something that had clicked into place. She could remember several incidents throughout the year where other students would name Meissa as the source of some kind of destruction to a room or a corridor - she's been privy to more than a few episodes but she never seen this depth of rage before.

And was it her imagination or did she sense something twisting in Meissa's gaze?

There was too many unanswered questions in her opinion but she knew that she needed to get Meissa away from the Hospital Wing before the professors arrived to investigate the explosion of magic.

She could come back later and make sure that no one was connecting this to Meissa but that could wait until after the Black Heiress was safe in the Slytherin commons.

~MJB~

Meissa was rubbing her temples - she felt about a hundred times worse now that she was out of the Hospital Wing. She wasn't sure if it was because she was allowing the pain to get through to her or if she was exhausted.

It felt like she was exhausted magically but she wasn't sure why - it felt a more pronounced sort of exhaustion compared to when she originally woke up. She wasn't quite sure when she started to feel exhausted but she could feel the migraine building sharply. She was actually considering laying down and would have if it wasn't for the sharp pain in her side every time she breathed.

So she was lounging about in the commons, not willing to make the journey down to the dorms She contented herself with closing her eyes, grateful that it was so late in the night that there was little else to disturb her. If there had been others down in the commons with her she would have forced herself to brave the stairs just to get some peace and quiet.

She wasn't quite sure where Daphne had disappeared off to - she had mumbled something once they've arrived in the commons but at that point Meissa was struggling not to faint from the migraine assaulting her temples. And even a few hours later she still felt rather faint from the mental assault so she wasn't inclined to go looking for the blonde Slytherin.

Still… she had a feeling that she was missing something…

"What happened?" she mutters out loud to herself, deciding that she might as well consider the events from the other night.

She knows that she followed the trio down into the chambers that was the resting place for the philosopher stone. She remembered finding them in the middle of a chess match - she remembered how much Weasley pissed her off, not that it was hard for him to do so, and having to take over the match to make sure Harry and Hermione lasted the night. Having to salvage both the match and then Ron's later attempt to upstage her was aggravating. She had no issues recalling all of that. She was grateful that she could recall of this so easily.

After that… a dead troll, potions, and then… going on alone with Harry while Hermione and Ron went back to get help. What happened after that?

Pain.

She distinctly remember pain - she must've dueled someone and was thoroughly outmatched.

Quirrell?

Yes… she can remember seeing him in the final chamber. He had been staring at a mirror, whispering madly when Harry exclaimed - giving away their advantage in his shock that it was Quirrell.

She dueled him - and was completely outmatched. She remember the desperation to keep Harry and herself alive. Could remember that she had been flung about like it was simple child's play…

But after that…?

No… she couldn't remember anything.

She has no idea how she ended up laying on the ground. She was sure that she had yet another gap in her memories and hoped that whatever happened Harry was safe. Or rather, as safe as he could've been with a Dark Wizard dueling to hurt/maim and possibly kill.

She wasn't entirely sure what happened between her passing out and waking but instinctively knew that he did well to manage to keep them alive. She'll need to talk to him about what had happened…

She rests her head on the back of the sofa as she thought about what happened when that… cloud vanished and Harry passed out.

All of that… all of that for a fake…

She frowns to herself as she considered a few things.

Would Albus willingly store a fake philosopher stone even though he knew that a Dark wizard was after it?

Her gut answer was no - he may have been foolish to store the stone in Hogwarts but she doubted he would do so with a fake. She had a feeling that he would justify storing the real stone in Hogwarts but doubted he would do so for a fake.

Which meant one of two things.

One: there was never a real philosopher stone. Doubtful since the Flamels have lived longer than the average life spans for a wizard and witch. Even if a wizard or witch lived extremely healthy lives they would at most live two hundred years before their bodies just gave up. Flamel is currently over six hundred years old if memories serve her right and she found it very hard to believe that a two magical beings can live for so long together.

So that left theory number two.

Two: the real philosopher stone is still in the possession of its' creator, Nicolas Flamel. Which begs the question, is he aware of Dumbledore's attempt to possess the stone? Because why else would there be a fake? She had a very distinct feeling that Nicolas Flamel may have been a Slytherin.

In any case it meant that she'll have to readjust her summer plans a bit.

There was a part that was grateful that they had agreed they'd spend the first and last two weeks of the summer in the company of their families before they - Daphne and Meissa - travel to Hermione's house for the first half the summer and then to Meissa's for the second half.

But first…

She sighs to herself as she realized what she needed to do and forced herself to her feet, wincing at the spear of pain in her side. Best to get this over with, she rationalizes in the privacy of her mind. Otherwise, she'd be putting this off until much, much later.

~MJB~

Meissa fidgeted with the tie around her neck as she accompanied Hermione to the Hospital Wing.

"I can't believe you!" the other girl was hissing at her. She made a good impression of a snake, Meissa couldn't help noting that but lost that line of thought when Hermione whirled around with a stern look on her face. "You were injured!" the Gryffindor girl said lowly - it was close to that hiss from before but this time Meissa knew that it wasn't intended. "I saw you! You had blood! On your lips and all over your body! I think you broke a rib and it punctured your lung!"

Meissa only blinked at her friend in confusion before she drew the other girl into a brief - really, really brief - hug. "I'm fine, Hermione. Let's go visit Potter, see if he's awake yet."

And so they continued walking although occasionally she would feel Hermione's fingers brush against the back of her hand as if to reassure herself that she was still there. Meissa didn't fault her for needing the reassurance and so she made no effort to avoid the touch or to tell her to quit it. So long it wasn't a prolonged continuous contact she found she could tolerate brief touches - from someone she could trust anyway.

There were still some people she would refuse to allow to touch her for long - actually it was almost everyone except her cousin, her aunt, her godfather, and her two closest friends. Everyone else she would do everything in her power to limit any touch from them. She knew why - she might not ever want to admit to the reasons but she was deeply aware of the cause.

So long she couldn't lie to herself about it she saw no reason to share it with the world. She didn't want nor need the pity that would appear in their eyes once they find out.

"Meissa," Hermione's voice cut through her rapidly spiraling thoughts and pulled her back to the present. Focusing on her friend Meissa forced herself to put aside her thoughts and saw that there was some sort of expression on her face.

Uncertainty.

She saw it often on the other girl when she was dealing with how to interact with their year mates.

"-believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat," Meissa heard Dumbledore's voice drift through the doors that were somehow left ajar. "No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

Meissa arched an eyebrow at Hermione who had a look of exasperation on her face. The Black heiress imagined that the other girl had argued with the twins over the matter. It was something the Gryffindor girl would've done.

"Three days," she heard the Headmaster say - confusing Meissa until she reasoned that Harry must have asked how long he had been unconscious. She had woken up yesterday and - after questioning Daphne upon her return - she knew that she had been out just a little more than twenty-four hours. Hermione hadn't been happy - well, she was but wasn't at the same time - to see Meissa up and about this morning at breakfast.

It was partially why she was accompanying Hermione to the Hospital Wing instead of retreating to the Slytherin dorms after breakfast. The other girl wanted the Medic-Witch to check her over and make sure that her escape from the Hospital Wing hadn't set anything back.

"-will be most relieved you have come around, they have been extremely worried," she hears the Headmaster continue, prompting her to shake her head in disbelief. Her mind was constantly wondering about right now. Looking at Hermione she saw that she was focused - possibly intent on hearing every little word - with an expression that was a mix of guilt and determination.

"But sir, the stone."

This had Meissa's distracted mind focusing within a second.

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

She blinked as his words registered before indignant rage started to well up from some pit within her. Her magic surging forward before Hermione's hand on her forearm distracted her. Just in time because she wasn't sure if she would've kept her magic from exploding from her and attempt to ravage the Headmaster. Attempt being the key word - because she knew that his magic was deeper and more powerful than hers. He was a _Lord_ and she was just… average.

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

"It was you." Meissa didn't like the sound of reverence in Harry's tone. He never sounded like that before and there was a bite in the air. It wasn't a chill she would've associated with the winter cold - it was summer after all - but a bite similar to magic was all she could identify.

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer-"

"Not the Stone, boy, you - the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed." She frowns at her friend who looked just as confused as she was. The stone had been destroyed - Meissa admitted that much to Hermione and Daphne but the three of them knew that it had not been because of Dumbledore.

"Destroyed? But your friend - Nicolas Flamel -" Meissa winced, hoping that Harry wouldn't mention who found the information before she remembered that he believed that Hermione found it.

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. She wasn't sure why but what he said next chilled her. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

Meissa's mind started whirling around as she took in everything she had heard so far, her body tensed as she thought about everything. It had been her suspicions that Dumbledore was planning on something with the stone and Harry. Now she was positive that everything had been set up to encourage Harry to pursue this.

She knew from her godfather that the Deputy Headmistress is responsible for handling all Muggle-born wizards and witches or those born or raised by those who are ignorant of the Wizarding World.

Yet it was Hagrid - the ground keeper with a loose tongue and, from Harry's idle comments and Hermione's observations, no real understanding of the Muggle world. Why would he be the one to show Harry the Wizarding world and then conduct private/school business while in the presence of another?!

The only thing that made sense to her was the idea that Dumbledore is trying to mold something out of Harry.

"-is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed." Hermione and Meissa exchanges looks at this. Meissa was curious as to when Dumbledore made an attempt to discover this - did he try to kill Voldemort after the Fall and discovered this or did he just assume this to be true? "He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?" Meissa frowned at this before she realized when Voldemort could've possibly said this to him. And for the first time she had to wonder if Harry would be okay after what he had survived down there.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know." She thought this was rather rubbish - Voldemort was after him - he deserved to know everything to better improve his chances of survival. The loss of his innocence cannot be the only barrier of keeping vital information from him.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

"And the invisibility cloak - do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." So her suspicions was true… Yet… 'happened' is a rather odd phrase to use. It made her wonder about the Potter estates - an invisibility cloak would be extremely valuable if only because it's extremely hard to produce one and keep it working for many years. It wouldn't just be left lying around - which, her opinion means that someone isn't taking care of the estates and wills like they're supposed to be. "Useful things... your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape -"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him - Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

Meissa shut her eyes and swore in the privacy of her mind. Uncle Sevy wasn't going to be happy when he finds out that Harry knows of the life debt he owed to James Potter.

"What?"

"Yes... Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace..."

Meissa needed to inform her godfather about this as soon as possible.

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes..."

She looked at Hermione and pulled her to the opposite side of the hall and they just managed to look like they haven't been eavesdropping when Professor Dumbledore walked out of the Hospital Wing with an expression on his face that had something akin to disgust. "Ear wax bean," he proclaimed when they looked at him in puzzlement before leaving their sight altogether.

"That was… informative," Hermione remarks idly as Meissa shook her head in disbelief.

"Understatement of the year," the Black heiress mutters. "I just realized something," she looked at her friend who was looking at her in curiosity. "There's seven lies or things I found questionable in the Headmaster's conversation with Harry."

"Really?" the other girl looked shocked by this. "The same magical number you mentioned before, right?" Meissa smirked slightly - careful to make sure that her friend didn't see it - and nodded. Of course Hermione would remember something like that.

"Well?"

She looks at her friend to find that she had an impatient look on her face.

"What were the seven lies you found?"

"I'll tell you in a moment - Harry should be part of this."

With that she ushered her friend into the Hospital Wing and had actually managed to get to Harry's bed without being spotted by the stern Matron.

"Meissa! You're okay!" he exclaimed before he got shushed by the girl in question.

"Not so loud!" she hissed at him.

"She's a wanted fugitive," Hermione chimed unhelpfully. "She's actually supposed to be here," she pointed at the bed next to Harry, "but she made her grand escape yesterday."

Meissa eyed her friend, "You're referring to the explosion, aren't you."

"Perhaps."

The Slytherin girl rolled her eyes at the other girl, choosing not to respond to that. In any case she found a spot on Harry's bed to sit down on, completely disregarding the vacant chair waiting for someone to occupy it. "So, Harry, we saw Professor Dumbledore earlier," she tilts her head at him, "What lies has he been telling you?"

He frowned at her. "He was telling me lies? Wait," he looks at her suspiciously, "How do you know he was talking to me?"

"You're literally the only person in the Wing other than Madam Pomfrey," Meissa remarks drily. "Not to mention you're the Boy-Who-Lived." Harry winced at the reminder as Meissa adjusted her body so that she was putting little to no pressure on her ribs.

"She does have a point," Hermione adds before she started untangling her hair. "Of course, we also overheard your conversation with him."

What followed next was something Meissa was sure would've gotten the Matron on their butt faster than a person can sneeze. Her body tensed in preparation of jumping into the nearest hiding spot - which was probably under a bed - but to her amazement there was no signs of the Medic-Witch coming to reprimand Harry for being loud.

"Do try to be a little louder, I don't think Russia heard you," she commented in a tone that was dry and icy - it reminded her a bit of her godfather's. She would admit - in the privacy of her mind - that a part of her did enjoy the coloring on Harry's face as he realized his mistake.

"In any case - as I told Hermione," Meissa started idly, "I've identified seven lies he told you. If you like I will tell you of them."

"How about we ask Harry what was his last memory down in the chamber?"

"Oh - yeah, that'll be a better start I suppose." Meissa had her head tilted as if she hadn't been aware of this possibility.

Harry didn't say anything at first - probably didn't realize that they had agreed for him to share what he remembered. But eventually he did realize that they were waiting on him. "I do remember fighting but… No, sorry, that's wrong… Meissa and I entered the room after drinking the potion and I saw that it was Professor Quirrell…" Meissa nodded in agreement, this matched up with everything she had experienced so far. "Meissa started to duel with him and was… well, knocked about. She kept fighting though…" He looked at her with an expression that spoke of being unsure of what to say next. "There was a strange moment though…"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked softly to try and encourage him to continue.

"Mm… She was different… I really don't know how to describe it but she went head to head with Voldemort - survived his attempt to have her killed and gave me the chance to get the Stone."

"I don't remember going head to head with Voldemort."

Hermione frowned and looked at her friend. "What happened after you got the Stone?"

"Voldemort noticed me I guess because he threw Meissa against a pillar and turned towards me."

"And had Quirrell take the stone," Hermione reasoned out. "Meissa told me that she woke up to him screaming orders… and saw a dark cloud go through you."

"I remember that… but then the next thing I remember is waking up here."

"Alright… Professor Dumbledore," Meissa started, deciding to go straight to the heart of the subject, "lied about arriving in time to prevent Quirrell from taking the stone. Surely you remember what happened to his body."

Harry frowned as he considered her words. He remembered Quirrell trying to choke him and - he tried to force his hand back before realizing what he was capable of and taking advantage of it. And he had seen Quirrell crumble to ashes so… why did he believe the headmaster so sincerely?

"That's lie number one?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "And what's the rest?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually curious if anyone noticed the seven lies or misleads Dumbledore told Harry. Let me know what's your opinion!


	33. Unasked Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone - so I wanted to mention that it looks like I’ll be busy for the next two months. Hopefully I’ll have time to update a chapter but if ya’ll don’t hear from me after April 2nd then assume that I’ve been busy packing and unpacking (yes - I’m moving to a new place. So much fun! *insert sarcasm*)
> 
> At the moment I have about two more chapters written for this fic. I’m hopeful that chapter 35 will be the end of year 1. We’ll see. I do plan on touching onto the summer activities. If any of ya’ll been to London or currently live somewhere in the UK please lemme know of any good activities for the girls to go to. If I use the suggested activities I will mention the person who gave me the idea.
> 
> Now off you go and don’t forget to write a review to lemme know whatcha think!

“When he spoke of the Philosopher’s stone he made it seem like he was the one who destroyed the stone - that he persuaded the Flamels to destroy it.”

She extended two fingers to keep track.

“He claims that Voldemort is not killable as he is now - that of course begs the question as to whether he tested this theory out, if he did then why had he not informed the authorities that Voldemort still lives. If he had not then how does he really know that attempting to kill him as he is now would result in failure?”

This one resulted in a third finger being extended and she saw that Hermione and Harry had a thoughtful look on their faces.

“On top of that he refused to give you a reason why Voldemort would want you dead. That’s a surefire way to get someone killed because they’d unknowingly put themselves in danger.” Hermione nodded in agreement to that observation. “Also, the magical protection your mother apparently gave you…” She frowned as she considered her words. “If your mother did indeed grant you some kind of magical protection then it’s probably not based on love but blood.”

“What?” the Gryffindors asked in confusion.

“Well… this is only speculation… but your mother gave her life to protect you.” Meissa tilts her head as she thought about this. Most of this she was coming up right that second but could later confirm with a few books. “There are rituals that depends on the willing sacrifice of one’s life. It’s basically the ultimate sacrifice one can perform. But they definitely do not depend on love.”

“The last two points I have has to do with the invisibility cloak he mentioned before and the life debt owed to your father.”

“How are those lies?”

“Not lies… just questionable things.” Meissa sighed as she considered that her seventh point wouldn’t make much sense to Hermione or Harry. Both were raised by Muggles so they wouldn’t know just what Dumbledore had done. Wouldn’t know that he had broken several pureblood etiquettes just by informing Harry of the bond between his father and her godfather.

“For one, a life debt is no one’s business except for those involved,” she said coldly. “While the life debt was owed to your father it was up to Professor Snape to inform you. It was a major breach of etiquettes for the Headmaster to say anything about it.” Harry looked unsure at what she said but said nothing in response. She hadn’t expected him to.

“That aside there is the curious matter of the Headmaster possessing what I can only assume to be a family heirloom,” she added with an air of cold curiosity.

“Is that important?” Harry asked, his green eyes glinting at her.

“It is…” She pauses as she considered her words. “If the cloak was a family heirloom then it should have a spell woven into it that, upon the death of either the Lord or the one whom it was bequeathed to, would return the cloak to the family vaults.”

“Then that got to be it,” Harry exclaims, starting Meissa from her thoughts.

“What?”

“Professor Dumbledore said that my dad left it to him.”

“No Harry,” Meissa mutters quietly. “He said that your father ‘happened’ to leave it with him.”

Hermione looked between the two of them for a second before she spoke up, “Harry… do you know if your father was the Lord Potter before he… died?”

Harry frowns and Meissa knew, in that moment, that he wouldn’t know. Who would’ve told him anything about his family? The muggles? They wouldn’t know anything about the pureblood society - the fact that Harry behaved as he does told her that no one taught him anything about his family heritage.

“He must have been,” Meissa injects quietly. “To my knowledge he is the first and only child of the last acknowledged Lord Potter.”

“Acknowledged?” they both questioned at the same time.

“Yes,” she sighed as she took in the confused looks from the two Gryffindors. “Every Lord and Lady of a House is typically acknowledged by both the magic of the House and Wizengamot. The highest court of law in Magical Britain. Wizengamot was established in the medieval days and predates the Ministry of Magic as well as the International Statue of Secrecy.” This time only Harry had a look of confusion on his face - something she felt will have to be fixed as soon as possible.

It was not right that an heir of an Ancient House be ignorant of their heritage.

If she ever finds out who is responsible for this she will take great pleasure of ruining them.

“I’ll find a book that will explain this to you,” she promises Harry, deciding that it was best to return to the subject at hand instead of spending the next thirty minutes summarizing something for him. “In any case, a Lord of a House, major or minor,” that part got a confused look but she decided to continue before expanding on anything, “would have to be acknowledged by Wizengamot. Typically that would happen after the Lord was tested and accepted by the House’s magic.”

“Wait, what do you mean tested and accepted by the House’s magic?” Harry interrupted.

She sighed to herself. It would seem that it is time for a bit of lecture. “Each House that can trace their lineage to the days of Merlin have a type of magic that protects the bloodline. These houses are typically acknowledged as Ancient Houses, sometimes as Ancient and Noble Houses. It depends on the deeds performed by the members of the House in question. These are also known as Major Houses. The Minor Houses are those established after Merlin’s death. They are typically not as old as a Major but occasionally an Old family will relocate to Britain. In any case the minor Houses will have no major deeds attached to the name or will be acknowledged as a Noble house.” She looks at the two of them.

“After some time, the House gain traits that are unique to them. Magic cultivated will eventually lead to magical gifts - or so my ancestors have discovered. Each family that has a magical history that spans more than ten generations will typically have a gift of some kind. A family that has existed for many generations will, of course, have more than one gift and sometimes marrying another family with a similar type of history will allow the two lines to mingle - occasionally granting both lines with the gifts of the other House or perhaps creating a brand-new gift from the two lines blending.”

“Is that why many purebloods look down upon Muggle-borns?” Hermione questioned lightly, obviously recalling a conversation about purebloods. Meissa hadn’t gotten into great details about purebloods - mostly because she didn’t want to see the disgust in the other girl’s eyes when she realized how unfair the Wizarding world is to those born to muggles.

Meissa sighs and twirls a lock of her hair around her fingers. “Yes…”

Harry made a noise that prompted Meissa to look at him. What she saw was a look that was both one part angered and one part disgusted. “So that means… my mom was…”

“Looked down by a lot of purebloods?” Harry looked at her sharply when he heard her words. “Most of those who are… prejudiced are typically Dark families.”

“You mean those declared Dark?” Hermione asked quietly, obviously recalling an earlier conversation. Although the fact that Harry had a confused look told her that Hermione never took it upon herself to educate him - and Meissa had to make herself realize that of course she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t know that Harry needed to know this as well since he was muggle raised.

“Yes. Those typically aligned with the Light tend to be more open minded about muggle-borns,” Meissa looks at the two of them considering her words. “The way things are set up, pureblood reign at the top of the hierarchy - firmly believing that their purity of blood and the fact that they have gifts is the reason why they are superior to all else. Those born to first generation witches or wizards and… muggles or purebloods tend to be considered as half-bloods - they’re rather common among the community but also looked down just for the fact they’re not pure of blood.”

She considers the two of them once more and decided they needed to know everything about the state of the Wizarding world before they get blindsided by a bigoted pureblood. “Below those considered as half-bloods are the muggle-borns… There’s a slur - common among those who believe that muggles are primitive people, if you ever hear someone say ‘mudblood’ then they’re likely insulting a muggleborn,” Meissa states in a flat tone, her eyes focusing on no one at first.

But her curiosity got the best of her and she found herself looking at Hermione - a slow look of realization appearing on her face.

“I’ll be hearing that a lot soon, won’t I?”

“It’s likely…” she confesses quietly. “It’s not common to hear it within the vicinity of a Professor but I think it’s rather likely you’ll hear the word at some point.” She gently tugged on her hair as she thought her words through. “The fact you haven’t heard it yet is probably because I’ve gotten a bit of a reputation of hexing anyone who speaks ill of my friends. But I wouldn’t rely on it forever - reputations are rather fickle.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks before they looked at Meissa with something akin to understanding. She wasn’t quite sure if she liked them looking at her like that. It gave her a prickly feeling along the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” they said in near union as they nodded their heads at her.

“What?”

“You’re the reason,” Hermione says in a near whisper, “you’ve protected us from the worse of what we could’ve faced.”

She looked at them in shock - she hadn’t thought they would come up with that idea. “No,” she protests, “You give me too much credit.”

“No,” Harry disagreed. “I think she’s right - and I thank you.”

She shifts uncomfortably for a second - the sharp flare of pain reminding her not to do that again.

“How did we get so sidetracked?” she asked - hoping that this would serve to distract the pair. “What was my original point before I started lecturing?”

Hermione was - of course- the one who game up with the answer, “The invisibility cloak.”

Meissa snapped her fingers as she mentally latched onto the previous topic. “Right. So, most heirlooms would be magically tied to the House and of course, Gringotts would have a list of the properties and objects owned by any particular family. I find it curious that any items belonging to the Potter family would linger outside the vaults with no acknowledged Lords in charge.”

“You mentioned that. But why is this so shocking?”

Meissa rubs her face as she thought about the answer to his question. She wasn’t quite sure but she suspected that any pureblood family would safeguard in thieves and looting. She doubted that Harry’s father was not the lord of the Potter family - and she further doubted that the invisibility cloak was not a Potter heirloom.

“I’m unsure of how to explain this… Think of it like this, all items may be allowed from the vaults or manors with the permission of the current Lord of the family.” She pauses to make sure they were still following her. The slight nods she got from them told her that for now she still had them. “The items can only be taken by another member of the Potter family, typically those born into the bloodline.” Another nod.

“For the Headmaster to hold possession of a Potter heirloom he would need the permission of the Lord of the Potter family,” she looks at Harry, “Your father was most likely the one who gave him permission at the time.”

Hermione made a gasping noise and pulled their attention to her as a result. “That’s what you’re trying to say!” she exclaims excitedly to her friend. “If Harry’s dad was the Lord of the Potter family then that would mean when he died the cloak should’ve gone to the vaults!”

Harry’s eyes widened and she saw the gears go into overdrive. She found it rather intriguing to watch how he pieced together something and - hopefully - come to the right conclusion.

“Then how did he keep the cloak to pass it down to me?”

“That, Harry, is the thousand galleon question.”

~MJB~

Meissa was lying on the cot opposite of Harry with a fierce scowl on her face as she stared up at the ceiling.

She had been discovered shortly after she finally got Harry to realize that something might be wrong with the Potter estates - Hermione may have been a tad too loud or they tested their luck a little too long. It didn’t matter because she had been confined to the Hospital Wing and this time there was a spell around the vicinity of the cot to alert the Madam of her potential escape if she moved from the bed.

With a tired sigh she tried to make herself comfortable - as much as she could with the fact that she had been forced to drink Skele-Gro. She knew - deep inside - that she should’ve passed out within minutes of drinking the potion and she did. There was a component in the spell designed to cause the drinker to go into a healing sleep to prevent them from injuring themselves as the potion replaced the bones with new bones. The problem, though, was staying asleep.

But she had woken up scarcely thirty minutes after consuming the potion - something she sincerely regrets since it meant she was wide awake through the pain until she passes out. She knew it was only thirty minutes thanks to the clock that ticked over the doors that separated them from the rest of the castle. It was enough to drive a person mad - a dangerous feat when one considers the fact that the Black family secretly have a reputation of insanity.

She had to consider that maybe some of the insanity was bred into the family - she remembered there was a person who married into the family - a Rosier if she recalled this right. She could remember that there was Rosier in the Death Eater ranks - and he was one of the most deadliest fighters on Voldemort’s side. She could only imagine that his downfall was widely celebrated by the Aurors if only because he was too insane to be taken alive.

A sharp flare of pain along the side of her body had her gasp out loud for the first time she awoke.

“Meissa?”

She stifled a low groan - both at the pain and at the fact she let her weakness become known. She hadn’t meant to alert anyone to the fact that she was awake. “What Harry?” she squeezes her eyes shut to try and push the pain aside.

“I thought you were supposed to be asleep,” he comments as she heard a rustling noise. Was that him getting out of bed?

“Don’t tell Madam Pomfrey.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because… she can’t do anything about it. The Skele-Gro can’t be taken with any other kind of healing potions,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“But… shouldn’t she know anyway?”

“All that’s going to do is make her worry,” she forced herself to think through the haze of pain. “She cannot change anything about this.”

A long moment of silence had her wondering if Harry agreed with her. She could recognize his footsteps - it was usually soft, as if he was afraid of making too much noise. It wasn’t that different from her own footstep - except her footsteps is the way it is because the Black Manor tended to echo if one was too loud.

She first noticed how quiet Harry was when she was chatting with Hermione. She could typically recognize a person - if she knew them well enough - by their footsteps long before she hears their voices or see them. She knew Weasley was approaching them - his footsteps tends to be loud and rather blusterous, making claims that he cannot back up.

If she mentions this to Hermione or even Daphne she knew they’d be looking at her as if she lost her marbles - again. Not to mention she wasn’t sure if she wanted to give away how she knew when they’re approaching her.

In any case it couldn’t be denied that she could recognize a person by the way they walk. So she knew that Weasley was approaching her and Hermione - but she had been taken by surprise when she saw that Harry was in his company. She hadn’t sensed him at all and that was troubling for her.

Even when she was trying her hardest to sense him she couldn’t when he’s in the company of someone who had louder footsteps - the only exception was when he’s with Hermione or when he’s extremely mad. Only then could she sense him.

“Meissa - are you sure Madam Pomfrey can’t help you?”

“I’m sure…”

She heard him make a noise - something a person would produce from the back of their throat - before there was a rustling of cloth. She could only assume that he had returned to bed. She didn’t want to risk her ribs just to look - just breathing was hard for her, she didn’t want to imagine what would happen when she moved. 

So she stayed still and gritted her teeth to bear through the pain - she can do that. She knows that - she’s done it before…

~MJB~

“The whole school’s talking about it,” she hears a voice pierce the haze of pain she had let herself drift away in. “What really happened?” She squeeze her eyes shut as she fought her way through the pain - trying to place the voice.

She could hear at least one other voice talking - she couldn’t fully comprehend what was being said. The pain along her side was just as bad as when she allowed herself to drift away - it was enough to make her want to stay distant with her body, but she had this niggling feeling that she needed to tune into this conversation.

“So the Stone’s gone? Flamel’s just going to die?”

“That’s what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that - what was it? - ‘to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure’.”

She forced herself to focus on her body - she knew that it was the key to forcing herself to bypass the pain and this bloody haze. She reached out to her hand - telling herself to stop being a pansy and just move.

So intent she was on getting her body to move she completely missed the fact that there was someone by the cot until a hand slipped into hers. All of a sudden she could only feel this sensation - the pain was a distant thing as she found herself unwittingly focusing on the sensation of this hand in hers.

Soft. Slightly calloused from holding a wand - it wasn’t her godfather, her mind could think that in the midst of this information. Small - no, it wasn’t too small. It was just right. Their hand practically slotted into place in her own. A shiver ran through her body - she could feel that but she couldn’t feel the pain.

Wait - they’re moving.

No!

~MJB~

Daphne was sitting by the cot Meissa was laying on - she had slipped into the Hospital Wing after Hermione and Ron, keeping out of sight of the redhead since she wasn’t in the mood to deal with his brand of idiocy. She didn’t like the low noises her friend was issuing - it sounded too much like what she had heard her friend make in those nights when she had forgotten to set up silencing wards around her bed. Meissa would never say what plagues her those nights - the near haunted look in her eyes was enough to ward off deep probing questions.

Even if she felt brave enough to find out, to push the issue, she feared losing Meissa’s friendship. And that would always keep her from digging too deeply. If there ever come a day when Meissa start to share her life’s story she’ll listen without judging. She’ll wait for that day for however long it takes.

But right now, her friend was laid up for who knows how long and a part of her regrets letting her go down there without her. She doesn’t know if she would’ve changed anything. It was likely that nothing would’ve changed even if she had gone. It was possible that she would’ve needed her own bed as well.

There was too many what-ifs for her mind to comprehend. She just needed to accept that this is how everything has played out and plan to do better for the next incidence.

Shaking aside the thoughts about doing things differently she reached out and gently slips her hand into her friend’s. Her thumb rubbing tiny circles onto the back of Meissa’s hand. She couldn’t think of anything else to do - Meissa was beyond her at the moment, lost to whatever dreams she was forced to experience.

Daphne knew that Meissa would be asleep for a few more hours - that’s what Madam Pomfrey said before she permitted her to enter the Hospital Wing. So she didn’t expect Meissa to be awake. Would hope that Meissa would remain asleep for a few more hours - even with the knowledge that her friend was unnaturally resistant to potions.

“Daphne,” she hears Hermione call out to her, her voice low to keep from being too loud in the large room.

“Yes?” she looks up from Meissa’s too stilled form.

“Madam Pomfrey wants us gone now,” Hermione tells her, a few steps easily carrying her over to Meissa’s bedside.

The blonde simply nods and made to stand up - her hand moving to slide free from Meissa’s.

Only to have it squeezed tight suddenly as if she was trapped in a vice grip. A low noise issued from Meissa’s throat - it sounded like she had tried to say something - and Daphne found herself staring at her best friend’s face.

She shouldn’t be aware.

Yet she was.

She shouldn’t have been able to move her body.

Yet she could.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Hermione squeaked as Daphne leaned closer to Meissa, her free hand going to rest on top of their hands.

“Meissa?” A low noise issued from her throat - and this time she could see the rapid movement under the other girl’s eyelids. She was aware - but how could she function under the pain? “Can you open your eyes?” she asks cautiously, the last she wanted to do was anger the other girl with a request she couldn’t obviously do.

“Step aside, Ms. Greengrass,” Madam Pomfrey appeared at her elbow and without further ado she began to wave her wands.

Daphne couldn’t see the pattern to the motions - she was not familiar with healing magic and thought it would not be a bad idea to learn some - even if they were only the basic sort.

“Is she awake again?” Harry asked anxiously from his side of the wing.

“She was awake before?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was stern and maybe ringed with a bit of anger. “You did not inform me of this?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said at once. “She told me that there was nothing that could be done.”

“When was this.”

“Um… it happened not long after she took the Skele-Gro.”

Daphne frowns and looks between her best friend, Harry, and Madam Pomfrey. “What does this mean for her?” she asked quietly, looking at the medic-witch.

“I’ve never had anyone awake during the process of re-growing bones,” Madam Pomfrey replies, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words. “I will need to consult with Professor Snape regarding this,” with a grim look on her face she waved her wand over Meissa’s body and Daphne saw and felt her going slack. Daphne squeezes her friend’s hand once more before she gently slipped free, making sure to ensure that her friend wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

With one last look at her friend she leaves the Hospital Wing with Hermione and Ron, determinedly ignoring the red head to keep from wanting to hex the other boy.

“Daphne?” Hermione starts in a low voice, “Do you think Meissa is going to be ok?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, “I’ve never heard of someone being able to resist the Skele-Gro.”

“What does Skele-Gro do anyway?”

“It’s a potion that basically re-grows your bones. It’ll be like it was never broken in the first place.” Daphne allowed a frown to appear on her face. “I don’t know too much about it but I believe that one of the components of the potion is something to cause the person to sleep until the potion has finished its’ work.”

“So… If Meissa resisted the sleep induced portion of the potion then doesn’t that mean she could resist the healing portion?”

Ron scuffed. “Why does it matter, Hermione?”

Daphne narrows her eyes at him. Suspecting where this particular line of thought was heading. “Meissa is our friend,” Hermione states sternly. “If she can resist potions then she would be in danger of resisting potions that would be beneficial for her.”

Daphne blinks as Hermione’s words registered in her mind - realizing the truth in them and began to ponder this. If Meissa could resist the Skele-Gro, or at least the portion that would spell her asleep, then could she already be resisting the effects of her potion regime.

“Who cares about her. She’s a slimy snake and I think she put a spell over you.”

“Ron, she wouldn’t do that!”

“That’s what she wants you to think! Of course you’re not going to think bad about her when you’re being controlled by her!”

“How dare you!” Hermione glared at him and - as Daphne watched on - looked just seconds away from slapping the heck out of him. “Meissa would not do anything of the likes of that!”

“You’re only proving my point, Hermione. You’ll never think of anything negative of her while you’re under her spell,” he remarks with something akin to a sneer on his face before walking away.

Once he was out of hearing range Hermione made a sound that conveyed her frustration with him. 

“He’s going to be a problem,” Daphne remarks lightly getting a noise of agreement from Hermione.

“I don’t really see why Harry is friends with him,” the bushy haired girl sighed as she rubs her forehead. “Harry is nothing like him.”

“I don’t know either. In any case you should return to your dorms. The feast is tomorrow so a head start in packing wouldn’t be a horrid idea.”

Hermione nods her head in agreement and left Daphne’s side with a muttered parting. The blonde nods and watched her go until she was out of sight before heading down to the Slytherin dungeons, thinking to herself and wondering if Meissa will have recovered enough to attend the Feast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… who wants to kill Ron now?
> 
> I’m actually curious to know who will predict what happens at the feast. If I remember right that should be the next chapter. So that’s an exciting bit to come yea? Aight, leave a review or pm if you have a question.
> 
> Ja ne!


	34. End of Term Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished chapter 35 and lo and behold I need one more chapter to maybe finish book one. I'm not sure I'll be able to post a chapter next month (not to mention it's getting close to finals week o.o). Anyway, enjoy!

Meissa awoke the next day to find only a dull ache in her bones in comparison to the sharp lancing pain from before. Relieved that she isn't in pain any more she pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes and suppressing a yawn.

"Meissa, you're awake," she hears Harry call out to her. Recovering from a yawn she looked over to find that Harry looked much better than he had the last time she had seen him.

"Hullo Harry," she greets amiably. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing too much," he answers. "Professor Snape was here sometime yesterday - he seemed pretty mad over the Skele-Gro." She winces slightly realizing that she could expect to receive a scolding from her godfather.

"You told her about the potion?"

"Yes."

Meissa couldn't quite suppress the noise of groan when she realized that her godfather was going to rip her a new one for withholding information that could've been important to her health.

"What's wrong?"

"My godfather is going to be steaming mad when I see him next," she rubs her forehead in aggravation.

"Oh." She looks up towards him to find that he had a worried look on his face. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," she watched him for a moment. "The worse I expect from him is being grounded. Of course, there's also the fact that I deliberately put myself in harm's way following after you the other night," she thought to herself about that one. Chances are she would be grounded for some time - she rather hoped that she wouldn't be grounded for too long, she really did want to spend some time with Hermione over the summer break.

"What does he normally do when you're grounded?"

"It depends on what I did. Once, I blew up the potion lab when I was younger," she confessed, getting a disbelieving laugh from Harry. "I had this brilliant idea that I could create a potion that would be the cure to - well, you don't need to know what I was trying to cure. My point is I didn't have an understanding of what I was doing," she tells him. "I just tried to copy my godfather, putting in ingredients I thought would work together. What happened was… it started to bubble in this way that was… incredibly ominous.

"And then with this thundering boom it exploded and I was knocked back." She subconsciously rubs her shoulder as she recalled that day. "I was lucky - the bubbling told me right away that I did something really stupid and I managed to turn away in time to keep from getting the potion in my eyes."

"What did it do?"

"It tried to eat away at me. I was fortunate that my godfather was in the house with me at that time. He managed to keep me from dying that day, and once he found out what I was doing he went into a rage that… to this day still scares me. He then grounded me for a month and required that I read a book called One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi." She saw the way Harry's eyes lit up and knew he recalled having to read the book for an essay in at least one occasion.

"Wow… So your godfather punishes you according to your…"

"Crime?"

"Yes."

"That's what he tries to do. That particular incident he sought to educate me as to why I messed up as well as punish me. And in a way, it encouraged me to be better. I learned how to brew properly instead of just randomly tossing in potion ingredients."

"That's… different from what I've ever experienced."

"Yea?" she looks at him in curiosity, recalling her suspicions from before. She had a whole book of notes regarding the magical laws on child abuse or neglect and needed to get her hands on books regarding the muggle laws, preferably written by someone who is either a muggle, muggleborn, or a squib with intimate knowledge of the muggle laws. Otherwise it would be worthless if it was written by a wizard or witch.

"What was your groundings like Harry?" she asked lightly.

"Uh… I would be sent to my room, normally, if I did something wrong," Harry answered weakly - or it sounded like a weak answer to Meissa's ears.

"Do you get grounded a lot?"

"My uncle would label me as a problem child," he confessed.

She tilts her head at him, thinking about what she knows about him. "Really?" she shook her head in disagreement. "I don't know, Harry, I've only known you for… well, a year, and I feel that you're the furthest thing away from what I would consider to be a problem child."

"Thank you," Harry mutters quietly.

"Harry," she waits until he's looking at her. "Do you trust me?"

She watched him as he looks at her for a long moment. "Yeah. I mean… I trusted you to keep me safe…"

"It's one thing to trust me to keep you safe and another thing to trust me with anything in general."

"Oh… I-I feel that I can."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Harry, you don't have to force it if you don't know yet," she reassures him. "I know that I've been primarily Hermione's friend but I hope that someday you and I will become proper friends."

"I… I definitely want that. And… I think I would want to learn how to duel from you."

She nods in agreement. "Whenever we have the time, Harry, I'd gladly teach you."

They share a smile between themselves before Madam Pomfrey showed up and ran a few spells over them, making little noises that told them nothing.

"I want to go to the feast," Harry told her while she was straightening his many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," the medic-witch replied stiffly. Meissa was amused by her tone - it was as if she saw a danger/risk in Harry attending the feast. "And you have another visitor."

With that she came over to Meissa and began to wave her wand over her, doing further tests. While the doors opened to admit Hagrid into the Hospital Wing and not for the first time Meissa noted that he looked too big to be indoors. He sat down next to Harry and with one look he burst into tears.

She blinked at this and looked at Madam Pomfrey who looked like she had an expression of exasperation with the whole situation.

"It's - all - my - ruddy - fault!" the game keeper sobbed into his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" Harry exclaims, shocked by this display of grief and remorse. Meissa was beginning to have a headache just from the sheer noise being produced from that side of the wing and Madam Pomfrey immediately gave her a migraine potion.

"Hagrid," Meissa tries, drawing his attention to her, "the information you shared would have been discovered sooner or later."

"Meissa's right, Hagrid. Voldemort would've found out even if you didn't say anything."

"Yeh could've died!" he sobbed. "An' don't say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed that had Meissa grimacing at once from the sheer volume. Only part of her thought that it succeeded in shutting Hagrid up since he stopped crying as a result.

"Aiyi, Harry, stop with the yelling," Meissa gripes as she rubbed at her temples, massaging the pounding pressure she felt there.

"Sorry," he calls over to her before he started to speak to Hagrid again, "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Professor Dumbledore is right about that - fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"There's a valid reason why everyone fears the name, Harry," Meissa injects, recalling the stories she had heard. She knew the risks of becoming too accustomed to referring the Dark Lord by his name but needed to inform Harry of the dangers so he could make his own decisions. She had no doubt that Dumbledore had not explained the reasoning behind the ridiculous names they've invented. "In the later years of Voldemort's terrorism - for that is what it was," she glared sternly at Hagrid when he looked ready to interrupt, "the Dark Lord placed a Taboo spell on his name."

"Taboo Spell?"

"Yes. I'll explain in a minute," she tells him when he opened his mouth to, she could only guess, question her further. "No one knew at the time but after a few months everyone realized that whoever utters 'Voldemort' - whether in the privacy of their home or in public - the Death Eaters would arrive and… all would die." Harry had a horrified look on his face. "No one wished to call him 'Dark Lord', to do so would to cause all to believe they support him and his agenda. Yet they could not call him 'Voldemort' without risking their very lives. So… they began to call him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'."

"The Taboo Spell - what it does is alert the caster or those tied to the spell to when a certain word or an action is performed. If one was to, for example, forbid the consumption of pumpkin juice then anyone who drinks the juice after that would be marked - on a map to show their location."

Harry frowned as he followed what she was telling him. "So, anyone who even speaks Voldemort's name was identified," he summarized in his own words to make sure he understood this right. The nod he gotten from the raven haired girl confirmed this for him. "Okay… so it makes sense that everyone would be afraid of saying his name," he was frowning, clearly thinking about what this meant in general. "So, why isn't Professor Dumbledore the same?"

"Well… It's said… that the only person Voldemort was truly afraid of was… Professor Dumbledore," she answered.

"So… What would you suggest I do?" Harry questioned her.

"I refuse to say the ridiculous names they've come up for him - that's the only reason why I call him Voldemort," she shrugged slightly - pleased to find that there was little to no pain with the movement. "And if I call him 'Dark Lord' then everyone will assume I support him."

"So if someone was to call him 'Dark Lord' then…" she trails off, watching his face as she waited for him to draw the right conclusions.

"It could be seen as sympathizing with him," Harry concluded like she had thought he would.

He was smart - he has shown that on more than one occasions - but just refused to show it often. She knew from Hermione's frequent comments and complaints that Harry and Ron barely devote any time to their school work. But she felt that if he just tried he would succeed in so many things. If one just explained things to him - the context, the relating information - then he would begin to shine.

But the secrets - that would do nothing but hinder him, in her personal opinion anyway.

"So… I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't," Harry looked at her while Hagrid made a noise that indicated he had objections. Now that she thought about it he had been quiet - throughout the entire time she's been talking to Harry, other than blowing his nose into a hanky that was probably big enough to be a blanket for someone. She realized that it was a disgusting thought the moment it popped into her mind.

"Yes. This is why I told you all of this. It was so that you would be informed of the possible consequences because only you can make your decisions - no one else."

Harry nods, understanding her points and looked at Hagrid. "Please cheer up, Hagrid," he sighs, realizing that he was still upset, "we saved the stone, it's gone, he can't use it." He gestures at the pile of candies he has received while he was unconscious. "Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads…"

Meissa winced as Hagrid sniffled a bit too loudly for her own tastes. "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" Harry asked anxiously while Meissa shuddered slightly at the last time she attempted the Groundskeeper's cooking. It was a miracle she hadn't chipped a tooth when she tempted a biscuit he had made. It was definitely a learning experience she would not want to attempt again.

"Nah," Hagrid shook his head, giving a weak chuckle. "Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead - anyway, got yeh this…"

Meissa saw him produce a book from one of his pockets - it appeared to be tiny whilst in his hands - and handed it over to Harry. Meissa couldn't quite make out what it was from where she sat but it did look something similar to a book.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos…" Hagrid explained gently - as gentle as one could with his rather loud voice. At his words Meissa realized just what Harry had gotten and felt… a knot in her chest. It was a reminder that their situation wasn't all that different.

They both grew up without the love of their parents - in that aspect they were alike, the only difference was that she knows her mother is still alive and that she could, if she made the right connections, visit her. But Harry could never see his parents again except in photos. It was with this knowledge in mind that she felt awkward, recalling the rage she had carried for Harry, blaming him for her mother's incarnation. "Knew yeh didn' have any… d'yeh like it?"

It was at this moment that Meissa turned her head away - giving them some mediocre form of privacy she could at that moment.

~MJB~

Meissa waved aside Madam Pomfrey's fussiness, insisting that there is no lingering pain from her previously fractured ribs nor was there any aches in her bones or exhaustion in her emotions or magic. It was in that moment that the raven haired girl swore to herself that she would do all she could to avoid being sent to the Hospital Wing from that point on.

It was because of her fussiness that they've been delayed in joining the others in the Great Hall. Harry and her had mostly made the trip in silence, but she had to admit to herself that it wasn't an uncomfortable sort either. It was like they had made some kind of peace in the last two days and internally knew that there was no reason to make idle talk.

When they arrived they saw that the Great Hall was decked out in Slytherin colors of green and silver, a slight pause occurring as they took in the sight. Meissa knew, from the tales told by the upper years, that this would be the seventh year of them winning the house cup in a row. A huge banner with the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table where the Professors and staff sat.

"Congratulations," Harry said to her, with no ill will towards her or Slytherin.

"Thank you," she glanced at him for a moment before giving him a half grin, "Better luck next year?" This earned her a grin as they found something to compete in.

"May the best House win," he returned, a spark of happiness and competitiveness appearing in his eyes.

In the hush that had fell upon their entrance just about all heard their brief conversation, the acoustic of the Hall spreading their words easily. A heartbeat passed before everyone started talking loudly at once so she waved a hand at Harry before turning to join her House mates, leaving his side as she sought out Daphne with her eyes.

A space was open between her and her cousin, she sees, and moved to take it while ignoring the stares of those in her House. She didn't really care all that much about what they thought - the few people whose opinion she cared about were those she cared a great deal about.

"How are you feeling?" Daphne asked quietly, leaning in to ensure as much privacy as possible.

"Better than I was before," Meissa confessed before she studied her friend's face - seeing the genuine concern. "I was told that you visited last night?"

"I did."

"Thank you," Meissa muttered, averting her eyes shyly.

Before Daphne could question her friend about the matter Dumbledore arrived, the Great Hall falling silence in respect or in some approximation of it.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore says cheerfully from behind his podium. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth in our delicious feast." Meissa scoffs at his words, a huff of breath the only thing escaping. "What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

Meissa exchanged looks between her cousin and Daphne, expressing to them that she thought that the Headmaster was insane. The slight nods she got from them indicated that they agreed.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out at the table - Meissa fought to keep the cringe off her face as the noise assaulted her mind. As she was trying to resist the migraine she felt a vial being pressed into her palm and found herself looking at Daphne who gave her a reassuring smile. Nodding her head in thanks she quickly downs the potion and nudged her cousin who was banging his goblet on the table.

"Knock it off will you," she hissed at him, getting the faintest look of remorse from the blonde boy.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore spoke up, commanding their attention once more. Something about his patronizing tone set off a sense of unease and when she looked at Daphne she saw the same look reflected there. Draco, on the other hand, was ecstatic that they had won the House cup. "However," he continued and at once she knew that something was about to go very wrong for them, "recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still and she saw the smiles on her House mate's face fade a little.

"Ahem," Dumbledore smiles amiably at everyone. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…"

"First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley," the Headmaster starts. Meissa felt her heart seize as she realized what was about to happen. She looked across to the other side of the Hall and found Weasley, Harry, and Hermione. The youngest of the Weasley boys was purple in the face - if Draco saw he probably would've made an unflattering comment about it.

"For the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house forty points."

In the amidst of the cheers from Gryffindor, Meissa's indignant shout was lost. She saw red and felt a hand at the bend of her arm, grounding her even through the intense rage she was feeling.

"Meissa, look," she distantly hears Daphne say before she found herself looking towards the Gryffindor table, an expression of offended pride and outrage on her face. She didn't know that - as her godfather watched her - she looked remarkably similar to her mother. But as she looked she found that Hermione was arguing fiercely with Ron who had something akin to a sneer on his face, as if he didn't care. Harry had the look of confusion on his face but seemed to be siding with Hermione, with the spark of disproval on his face.

"How did he take credit without anyone noticing?" Meissa muttered, the anger vanishing deep inside her. Seeing Harry and Hermione's reactions she knew that she hadn't been betrayed by them.

She wasn't sure when but eventually silence fell over the hall once more.

"Second - to Ms. Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Meissa looked at Hermione, their eyes connecting, and found that the Gryffindor girl was unsure about what to do. They had worked together to come up with the answer to the riddle. Meissa knew from scent alone which of the seven had the wine and that made it easier to identify the poisons. But she had no illusion that without her Hermione wouldn't be able to figure out the puzzle. The bushy haired girl is absolutely brilliant, she wouldn't have needed any aid at all. So in this instance she didn't care about credit - but in regards to the chess match she did care if only because she made sure to keep Harry and Hermione out of harm's way.

In the midst of the cheers - Gryffindor was now a hundred points up - Meissa looked over to her godfather and saw that his face was growing more and more ominous by the passing second.

"Third - to Ms. Meissa Black…" The hall went quiet and she found herself holding her breath, "for a well fought duel, I award Slytherin house… ten points." Silence reigned - in light of the points that had been thrown out, the points was insignificant. Meissa had no idea if she was supposed to be insulted - in fact, that's exactly what she feels.

This… this act made it extremely clear in her mind that Dumbledore was bias. Just like everyone else in the country.

"Fourth - to Mr. Harry Potter…" The entire hall was still silent, it was enough to allow a person to hear the drop of a pin, "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house seventy points."

The noise was deafening. Meissa counted the numbers in her head and realized that Gryffindor was now tied with them. So now she wondered what would come next because she doubted he would stop here. Draco was shouting protests, furious about the whole thing. She shared a look with Daphne, wondering what more Dumbledore was going to do.

Dumbledore, after some time, raised his hand for silence which he got almost immediately.

"There are all kinds of courage," he says with a smile on his face - making her distrust him immediately if not more than ever before. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Meissa winced and covered her ears at the explosion of noise, almost immediately feeling Daphne's hand on her back. The sheer volume of the cheering was so painful that she found it almost hard to concentrate. But still, she forced herself to look across the hall to Hermione and Harry. The Gryffindor girl was looking at her - it was too far to see what emotions were there in her eyes but she imagined there was concern. Harry looked shocked as Weasley - it was hard to miss him - shook the black haired boy, glee apparent on the red head's face. And from the corner of her eyes she saw Longbottom disappear under the swarm of people hugging him - her mind wondering only briefly just what he had done to warrant praise, or was it just a convenient thing for Dumbledore to latch onto?

"No!" Draco protested, his voice clear due to proximity and only because of that.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, as Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating as well, "we need a little change of decoration."

"I cannot believe he did that," Daphne hissed into Meissa's ear, noting but ignoring the shudder from the close contact. "He gave you merely ten points for dueling?! You did more than that!"

"I know," she turned towards her friend as Dumbledore clapped his hands. The green hangings, high above their heads, became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. "But it's a lesson learned."

"What lesson?" Draco demanded, somehow overhearing this in the midst of cheers.

"That Dumbledore is bloody _bias_ little wanker," Meissa concludes with an angry sneer on her face.

"Language!" Draco goggled at her.

She ignored him as she spotted her godfather shaking Professor McGonagall's hand - she saw that both had a look of discontent on their faces. Which struck her odd since she would've thought that the Transfiguration Professor would be overjoyed that her House won, unless she was all about fair play.

She shook her head in disbelief at what had transpired in the past ten minutes, her head throbbing as she fought her emotions. The rage was toxic and choking so she made an effort to slide it away and into the pools - reminding herself to let it out when she could vent properly. The disappointment was a deep sensation that she didn't think she could hide even if she could try. She was… disappointed that the cup they had won - rightly won through their efforts from the time of the welcoming feast to the End of the Year feast and it was snatched away. The disappointment mingled too much with the rage but she knew that she didn't want to hide it away so she separated the feeling into two parts.

The part that was tangled with her anger she cut away and allowed to sink into the pools while the rest remained free.

After that was sorted through she found that there was no other emotion. Just rage and disappointment.

"This," Daphne muttered, "this is the start of something bad."

Meissa turned to her, puzzled by the randomness of the comment and arched an eyebrow at her. "What brought that on?"

"Think about it, Slytherin wins for six years straight and then this year happens - a Philosopher's Stone in the heart of Hogwarts, a possessed Professor, and nearly two hundred points awarded to Gryffindor because the Boy Who Lived did some insane thing," Daphne grumbled.

Draco leaned over, his breath brushing over Meissa's skin and prompting her to elbow him for space. With a grumble he obliged, saying, "You think the Headmaster will do something like this again?"

"It doesn't seem that farfetched."

Meissa frowned as she recalled her earlier suspicions about the stone and Professor Dumbledore. But the reminder of the possession of Professor Quirrell reminded her of something.

"Does anyone know any books on spirits?" she spoke up, interrupting whatever was being said between her cousin and Daphne.

"You might find something in the Library," Draco comments. "But we're leaving tomorrow, remember?"

"I think there's a book in my family's personal library," Daphne adds in before Meissa could say something to her cousin. "If I find it I'll owl it to you."

"Thank you," she says to the blonde, thinking about what she had in mind.

There was something odd going on in Hogwarts and she intended to find out just what it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... does anyone feel like killing a few people after this chapter? Let me know who is on your hit list! I might consider doing an omake for the heck of it.


	35. Going Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, summer's almost here (for me) and look at this, it's summer time for Meissa! Whoot whoot!
> 
> On another note, I've been experiencing a bit of writer's block in regards to the story (all of my stories actually) so I would appreciate any suggestions as to where Meissa, Hermione and Daphne can visit in the UK. In any case, please enjoy and don't be afraid to leave a reveiw!

Meissa studied the dormitory for any stray items of hers or Daphne, reminding herself that she had already taken her potion for the day. The parchment with her marks for the year sat in her trunk - full of passing marks for each of the classes, and indicating that she would have to try much harder in Herbology to bring up the Acceptable to Exceed Expectations or higher.

Daphne’s marks were good but the blonde already told her, shortly after receiving her parchment, that she intended to improve her marks so that her mother would not have anything to pick at. Daphne’s natural talent in Transfiguration shined through during the exams - receiving top marks possible for a student. Astronomy, Herbology and Charms proved to be the blonde’s weak points and had already preempted the second year by asking Meissa if she would be willing to tutor her still.

Meissa was not at all against it and had said they could get their summer homework out of the way in the first few days of summer - either before or after they all meet up at Hermione’s house.

Meissa’s plans, of course still depended on her godfather but it seemed, to the raven haired girl, that her godfather may not punish her due to what had happened to the Slytherins in the feast. So she was rather hopeful that her summer plans are still ongoing but was somewhat prepared to adapt if needed.

“Meissa, hurry up, the carriages are due to leave in ten minutes!”

The Black heiress took one last look in the dormitory before she nodded to herself in satisfaction and tapped her wand to the trunk. With three taps the trunk was shrunk to the size of her palm and pocketed without any further thoughts.

And with that she left, following Daphne down to the ground floor where they would join the other students in leaving the school for the summer.

~MJB~

Hermione was looking around, Daphne and Meissa still haven’t shown up and it was getting close to the time when the carriages would leave. Harry was waiting by her side, quietly chatting with Ron who was refusing to see that there was anything wrong about getting the credit for the chess match. Hermione had already given up on getting the bullheaded boy to realize what was wrong with that. She hated that the red head was getting the credit but she didn’t know how to fix the whole situation so that the right person was getting the credit they deserved.

Maybe Ron would have won the match but Meissa strongly disbelieved that, commenting that it seemed like he was leading to a moment when he would have to sacrifice himself to secure a win for Harry. In light of what Meissa managed to do Hermione could only conclude that the Slytherin girl had done a much better job in protecting them. Not only had she kept them alive but she also adjusted her plans when Ron proved difficult.

That was something she doesn’t think anyone could manage. Not on the fly, not like how Meissa had done. Maybe she’s overthinking it - seeing it as an amazing feat instead of a test of Meissa’s character.

“Hermione,” she hears from somewhere behind her and turned. “There you are,” she sees Daphne approach her, her trunk floating next to her. “Potter,” the blonde nods to him before turning to Hermione, completely ignoring the redhead to his immediate ire.

“Daphne,” she smiled at the other girl before looking behind her for their other friend. When she didn’t immediately see her she looks questioningly at the blonde. “Where is Meissa?”

“What do you -,” Daphne cuts herself off as she saw that the other Slytherin girl was not with her. “Where did she go? She was right behind me!”

“You didn’t get separated?”

“No! There’s not that many students left inside,” Daphne defended as she scanned the area for the other girl. “She couldn’t have gone far.”

“We’ll help you look,” Harry volunteered.

“What?!” Ron exclaims.

“No one is forcing you to look!” Hermione cuts him off before he could start shouting. He shut his mouth with a sullen snap, his eyes glaring daggers at the Gryffindor girl. But at that point she had already turned away from him, looking at Daphne and Harry, two people she can truly count as friends. “Where do you think she could’ve gone?”

“Let’s check the ground floor before anywhere else,” Daphne suggested. “I’m positive she was with me on the stairs up from the dungeons.”

“I’ll check the halls to the right,” Harry volunteered. “One of us should check the Great Hall.”

“Wait,” Hermione injects, “I think we should stay together.”

“It would be faster to search for her separately,” Harry argues and while Hermione could agree with Harry’s point she felt that when they do find Meissa they would have to relocate the others and then hustle to the carriages.

Daphne looked between the two Gryffindors, thinking. “I agree with Hermione,” she spoke up after a moment. “And I feel that Meissa will be close to the dungeons. She wouldn’t have that much time to wonder off to the other side of the castle.”

Harry frowned but nodded slowly. “Okay,” he says out loud, “You two do know her better than me so I’ll take your lead on this.”

The trio share a nod between themselves before re-entering the castle to begin their search for their waylaid friend, leaving Ron behind as he did not want anything to do with the missing Black heiress.

They checked the halls around the stairs leading down to the dungeons. They searched the rooms and was getting pretty worried when Hermione started to hear something echo down the halls. “Do you hear that?” she asks, hooking a hand onto Harry’s arm to stop him.

 _“Frére Jacques, frére Jacques,”_ she hears someone sing childishly, trying to figure out why this sounds familiar, _“Dormez-vous, dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines. Ding-dang-doing, ding-dang-dong.”_

“What’s that?” Harry asks questioningly, his voice low. Daphne frowned as she tried to remember what language she was hearing.

“I think… it’s French,” the blonde concludes, finally placing the language, “My grandmother was from France and she tended to scold my mother in French.”

_“Are you sleeping, are you sleeping? Brother John? Brother John? Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing! Ding-dang-dong, ding-dang-dong.”_

“Oh!” Hermione looked at the other two, expecting Harry to recognize it but found no recognition to be found there, “It’s a lullaby!” There was still no recognition from Harry so she decided to pursue that line of thought later. “Let’s follow the singing. It might be Meissa.”

“Why would she be singing this though?” Harry questioned, glancing between the two girls. They could only shrug at him and started searching for the source of the singing. It was a bit hard due to the fact that their voice was echoing.  

_“Frére Jacques, are you sleeping? Dormez-vous? Brother John? Sonnez les matines, morning bells are ringing. Ding-dang-dong, ding-dang-dong… Are you sleeping, frére Jacques. Brother John, dormez-vous. Morning bells are ringing, sonnez les martines. Ding-dang-dong, ding-dang-dong.”_

They around a corner and found Meissa dancing down the length of the hall they were in. Occasionally pausing to knock on the chest of a suit of armor, laughing in glee when she gets a sharp tang and occasionally drumming on the metal with her nails.

Daphne paused, stunned by this open display of glee while Hermione found herself intrigued by this side of the raven haired girl.

It was so far from what they would expect from the other girl that Harry ended up staring as the raven haired girl danced and sang and laughed. Never before has he seen this light hearted side of the Slytherin girl, he found it incredibly odd if he had to be honest with himself. But the fact that both Daphne and Hermione looked just as shocked by this told him that this wasn’t actually a regular occurrence.

“Meissa?” Hermione tries, approaching the other girl. The raven haired Slytherin was staring up at a suit of armor, her hands on her hips as she stared it down.

Harry frowned as there was no reaction from the other girl. He didn’t think that she would be the kind of person to actively ignore someone. Especially when that someone was Hermione or Daphne. In the times he had seen Meissa with Daphne and Hermione the raven haired girl was attentive, heeding their suggestions or thoughts.

“Meissa?” Daphne tries now with no visible response.

 _“I wonder where Unca Sevy is,”_ Meissa muttered as she turned and - Harry blinked as he saw this - skipped the other way.

Daphne frowned and hurried after the Black heiress. “Hey!” she grabs her friend by the elbow, “where are you going?” Dark brown eyes locked with pale blue and for the first time ever, since the Sorting night, Daphne saw no recognition.

 _“Who are you?”_ the Black heiress stared at her with wide eyes, her voice making her seem younger than she ever had before.

Looking into Meissa’s eyes Daphne realized with a start that she had never seen the other girl with her guard down.

“I’m your best friend?”

She hadn’t meant for that to come out as a question.

Meissa looked at Daphne in confusion. _“I don’t know who you are?”_ Meissa frowned as she backed away from Daphne. _“Unca Sevy said not to talk to strangers.”_

Hermione frowned as she noticed the way Meissa was talking. She sounded like she was younger - almost exactly the way a person would expect a child to talk as. It was drastically different from how Meissa typically talks. The raven haired Slytherin tended to sound like she was older than her age but this was ridiculous.

“We know him,” Harry tried, thinking that they needed to get Meissa onto the train before it left without them.

 _“Really?”_ Meissa looked at the raven haired boy with hope apparent in her eyes. _“Can you take me to him? I got lost again,”_ there was a definite pout on the girl’s face. _“I dunno where Kiera or Nymphie went,”_ the Black heiress mutters, her tone conveying just how scared she was despite the fact that she had just been singing a lullaby not ten minutes ago.

“Of course,” Harry agreed, trying to figure out who Kiera or Nymphie is. Never mind the fact he had to figure out who ‘Unca Sevy’ was before things blew up in his face.

 _“Wait,”_ Meissa cried and backed away from the trio once more. _“I don’t know who you are! I can’t go nowhere with you!”_

Hermione nearly cried in frustration - they nearly had her following them!

Daphne, forming a rough idea of how to resolve the issue, took the lead once more. “My name is Daphne,” she introduced herself. “This is Hermione and Harry, they’re my friends.”

The Gryffindor saw immediately what she was trying to do and went along with it. “Now you know who we are - we’re not strangers anymore right?”

The raven haired girl frowns thoughtfully at the two girls before she slowly reached for Hermione’s outstretched hand - seemingly one part scared and one part timid. It was such an odd sight that Harry had to pinch himself to confirm that this was actually happening.

The resulting pain confirmed that he wasn’t dreaming at all.

Holding Hermione’s hand Meissa turned to Daphne, dark brown eyes meeting pale blue, and held a hand out to the blond with a shy smile on her face. Daphne returns the smile and accepted the hand. Once both hands were occupied Meissa started skipping, forcing the other two girls to skip along with her or be dragged.

They continued along in this fashion until they reached the doors that led out of the castle and to the carriages. There the raven haired girl paused and looked at the other girls. _“Unca Sevy is outside?”_ she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Harry answers, “And your cousin.”

 _“Dray is here?”_ Meissa questioned with wide eyes. _“What’s Dray doing here? Is Aunt Cissy here too?”_ Daphne had to fight a slight wince, connecting Dray to Draco. The platinum blonde wasn’t going to be happy when he finds out that Meissa had been calling him Dray in front of Harry Potter. 

Harry, for his part, was doing his best to suppress the amusement he got from hearing Meissa’s nickname for Draco.

“I don’t know if your aunt is here,” Hermione starts cautiously, she remembered Meissa talking about her aunt once, “But I think Draco might be outside. Would you like to join us in searching for him?”

Meissa took a moment to decide, nodding her head slightly when she made her mind. With that they lead the Black heiress through the doors and to the carriage, careful to keep her away from any lingering students. They weren’t sure why Meissa was behaving so oddly but knew that they needed to find out what could have cause the regression, hopefully without damaging the heiress’ reputation. Until she was returned to her normal self it was best they kept her separate from the other students.

It was rather fortunate of them that they were among the last to take the carriages down to the train station. 

It took them some effort but they were able to talk Meissa into boarding the train, settling her into a carriage with the promise that ‘Dray’ would be along soon enough after he was done mucking about with his friends.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly considering her dislike for Crabbe and Goyle, Meissa made a face at the mention of Draco’s two friends, muttering about bricks being smarter than those two. It was something Harry had no problem agreeing with, pressing a hand to his face to stifle the snickers. Hermione rolled her eyes but made no point to curb the raven haired boy’s amusement while Daphne had a sly sort of a smile on her face.

~MJB~

The chatter of boys and girls alike was the first to register in her mind, just about masking the vibrations of what she had identified as the train’s wheels grinding against the rail. The clamor of owls hooting, cats hissing, and a toad croaking nearly set her teeth on edge and woke her completely from the edge of sleep she had been drifting in.

“Oh!” she hears someone exclaim somewhere off to her right. Her eyes noting instantly that she had been slumped in the corner of what looked like to be a compartment of the Hogwarts’ train. Same horrible color scheme and rather uncomfortable stuffing for the seats.

Thing is, she couldn’t remember ever boarding the train?

“Meissa?”

She turns towards the speaker, registering them instead of the compartment. She needed to work on that.

“Yeah?”

The near relief on Daphne’s face was rather puzzling in her opinion. Has she been out for that long?

“How are you feeling?”

“Um…” She took a moment to think about it before she realizes that she felt looser. Like she lost a load of weight from her shoulders. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she didn’t feel like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was, in her opinion, rather freeing. “I feel good,” she finally tells the blonde after noticing that she was waiting for a response.

Daphne nods slowly as if she was unsure about accepting the raven haired girl’s response. “When was the last time you’ve taken your potions?”

“This morning, when we were finishing up the last of our packing.” She looks curiously at her friend but decided not to press for answers when it became apparent that she did not want wish to talk about whatever it was that was bothering her. “How close are we to King’s Cross?”

Daphne blinks at her for a moment before she frowns, looking out of the window. “I’d say we’d have about an hour.”

Meissa nods, thinking quickly before taking in her current attire. She was still dressed in her school robes - if she had fallen asleep shortly after boarding the train she could see why she would neglect changing into something appropriate for blending in. She found herself grateful for her friendship with Hermione. It gave her a better idea of what was more current, even if she did find it hard to imagine what wearing ‘jeans’ would be like.

She wished that her godfather would be there to pick her up but just like he couldn’t be there to see her off she knew that he couldn’t be there to see her return. Her Aunt Cissy had insisted that she join the traditional voyage to the castle instead of traveling along with her godfather and she hadn’t even considered broaching the concept of returning to their summer home via the floo network. So she knows that her Uncle Sevy wouldn’t be there to greet her at the station, which meant that she’ll be spending the night at her Aunt’s place.

She actually found herself dreading the visit, distinctly remembering that she had woken up locked in her room with several broken and fractured bones to remind her of… something. She knows from Aunt Cissy’s brief mentioning of it that her Uncle Lucius was the reason why she was laid up for the rest of the Winter holidays. And she was not looking for a repeat performance.

So staying out of the Malfoy home was the ultimate goal. The fact that she was still punishment free gave her the hope that she would still be allowed to spend a month at Hermione’s house.

“Do you want to play a few rounds of chess?” Meissa finally suggested after a few moments of silence.

“Sure, but I hope you’re not planning on a long game,” Daphne warned with a smile on her face.

Meissa only grinned at the blonde and after receiving the game from her trunk they started setting up the pieces.

Roughly thirty minutes later found the two girls in their second game - with Meissa taking the time to help Daphne formulate better strategies - when Hermione came by to visit them. The relief on her face when she saw Meissa playing chess was so apparent it drew a questioning look from the raven haired girl. When pressed the brunette gave no answer, only saying that she was glad to be away from Ron’s annoying prattling about Gryffindor winning the House Cup and his hopes of them winning the Quidditch cup next time.

The comments only earned her an eyeroll from the two Slytherins, both of them being unimpressed with the red headed boy after he stole the credit from Meissa. Daphne was firmly of the belief that Meissa could dance circles around the boy. The Black heiress had no opinion on whether or not she could do such a thing but she did hate how everything unfolded at the feast.

It was so bloody unfair!

“Hey Meissa,” the heiress hears Hermione call out to her, drawing her from her thoughts. Once the Gryffindor saw that she had the raven haired girl’s attention she gave a brief smile. “We’re almost at King’s Cross Station. Do you want to change now?”

Meissa turns towards the glass window and saw that Hermione had spoken truly. They were now somewhere in London, well on their way to the railroad station and it was time to change their clothes into something appropriate. “It’s best,” she agrees before she took a change of clothes and left for the girl’s loo, ignoring the questioning looks she gotten from the other girls.

Hermione found this to be unexpected - having not known about this particular quirk, for lack of better words. Daphne had expected this but once again found herself wondering about why Meissa was so uncomfortable changing around other people. Parkinson, Bulstrode and Davis were comfortable changing around each other. Bulstrode was actually the only other person besides Meissa who seemed uncomfortable, her figure not exactly small nor slim.

Most of the other Houses had picked up on her insecurities about her appearances - the straight build of her body made her seem blocky. The few malicious students had already started drawing attention to it, making comments about losing weight. In those rare times - early in the year - Meissa had actually gotten enraged on Millicent’s behalf and pranked them to an inch of their social lives. The best part of the pranks was that the Weasley twins often got accused of pulling them off since they were the renown pranksters of the school.

By the time Meissa returned the train was pulling into the station, her hair braided back with a few loose strands already falling onto her face. Hermione and Daphne had already packed away the chest board so all that was left was for Meissa to toss in her clothes and, with a simple tap of her wand, shrink the trunk to its pocket sized form. 

“I saw one of those before,” Hermione comments as Meissa pocketed it. “They cost a lot though.”

“It was a gift from my aunt,” the raven haired girl says as a way of explanation as Daphne held the door open for them both, her trunk already safely stored away.

“Ah,” Hermione smiles slightly at the two Slytherins. “Well, I should go get my things.”

“We’ll go with you,” Daphne offers before Meissa could even open her mouth, surprising both girls. “What?”

Meissa shook her head and motioned for them to start moving, seeing that the crowd seemed to have dissipated somewhat in the five minutes of their arrival. Daphne shoots them both questioning looks but after trying to get them to explain - ultimately failing - she gives it up as a lost cause. Instead she helps Meissa carry Hermione’s trunk off the train - ignoring the other girl’s attempts to say that she could do it herself.

Between the two Slytherins they were able to wrestle Hermione’s trunk onto a cart with Meissa giving a show of exhaustion a she leaned on the cart. “Merlin’s beard, ‘Mione! What do you have in there, bricks?” she exclaims, spying Harry and Ron’s approach. Both of them seem to have gotten their trunks onto a cart, one for each of them, and felt a flare of irritation that they left Hermione to bring out her own by herself.

Hermione doesn’t see the approach of the boys as she smacks Meissa’s arm. “I do not have bricks in there! Just my books!”

Daphne smiled at the other girl, deciding to join in on the teasing. “Was there any room for your clothes in there?” she asks slyly.

“Of course!” the bushy haired girl exclaims before the two Slytherin girls burst out laughing at the indignant look on the Gryffindor’s face. They got a huff from the muggleborn girl before they finally managed to quell their laughter, the boys’ arrival playing one small part in their calming. “Well I hope you enjoyed that,” Hermione huffs at the two girls, getting smiles from the two girls, before she turns to greet Harry and Ron.

Meissa turned away from the Gryffindor to search the crowd for her cousin. She had just managed to find him when her eyes slid over to where a wizened old guard was allowing small groups of students to exit through the ticket barrier. Draco’s platinum blonde hair standing out in stark contrast to Crabbe and Goyle’s dark colored hairs. Right when she found him she saw that the trio were given permission to step through the barrier, eliciting a roll of exasperation at her cousin.

She should have figured that he would go ahead of her with his goons - he was rarely ever without the company of his bodyguards. It was actually amusing for her to bet when people will start to speculate if those three were in a triad or something. So far no rumors has sprung up about the three boys but that was okay, she had her money bet on year three if not year four.

“You must come and stay this summer,” she hears Ron say, drawing her attention away from the thoughts of her cousin. She watched as Harry nods slightly, apparently accepting the invitation.

“Thanks, I’ll need something to look forward to,” he says as people jostled them. Some were calling out farewells to Harry as they moved forward towards the gateway back to the muggle world. A few times Meissa had to keep her face blank as a hard elbow would find its way to her spine.

Some of the people that went by called out to Harry, ranging from a generic farewell to something about his fame as the boy who live.

“Still famous,” she hears Ron comment, grinning at the raven haired boy. Yet, Meissa couldn’t help but notice that there was a glint of jealousy in the other boy’s eyes. He wanted the fame, glory, and fortune that came with being the boy-who-live.

“Not where I’m going, I promise you,” she hears Harry comment. An alarm rang in her mind at Harry’s words and she found herself staring at the raven haired boy. But she had no opportunity to say anything to him because they were going through the barrier. She and Daphne followed them through less than a heartbeat later and she heard a voice call, “Mom, there he is, look!”

Meissa turned her head towards the voice, locating the Gryffindor Trio walking towards a woman and a girl, about the age of a person who could go to Hogwarts. “Harry Potter!” the girl was squealing.

“Wow,” Daphne muttered, shocked, as they walked towards the trio.

“Something tells me she idolizes the Boy-Who-Lives.”

“I’m getting that impression too,” the blonde shook her head in disbelief. After being around Potter for a year she found it hard to buy into the books. It probably didn’t help that Meissa’s comments about Potter has caused her to see him in a different light. The late nights spent researching laws and cases certainly reinforced the new outlook.

They joined the trio just as Harry was thanking the red haired woman for the fudge and sweater.

“It was nothing, dear,” the woman was saying before she took notice of the two girls. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello,” Meissa returned while Daphne nodded her head slightly in greeting.

“They’re Slytherin, mum,” Ron interrupted before Meissa could introduce Daphne and herself to the woman. Almost at once Meissa saw a shutter close over the woman’s emotions and knew that she was likely the source of the negative views her son has for Slytherin. 

“They’re friends,” Harry hastened to add, sensing the impending explosion. “This is Meissa Black and Daphne Greengrass.”

Meissa nodded slightly in thanks to Harry as she watched as the woman’s eyes became colder towards them. “Greetings, Madam Weasley,” she nods slightly in acknowledgement to the woman. She wasn’t sure but she had a feeling that the Weasley family was distant relatives of the Black house - although most of the Pureblood wizarding families could claim that. “May the Light always shine upon your Home and serve as a beacon in times of danger,” she intones after a moment of hesitation.

The Weasley matriarch paused at the phrase, having not expected a witch from a Dark pureblood family. “Thank you,” she returns, losing some of the ice from her eyes.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were looking back and forth between Meissa and Mrs. Weasley while Daphne was just looking at Meissa with an expressionless mask on her face.

Ron looked increasingly more livid the longer he saw that his mother was not ripping into Meissa like he had expected.

Hermione was curious, she wanted to learn more about what Meissa had done to appease the Weasley matriarch because the red haired woman had looked like the raven haired girl was someone to keep away from until Meissa said those words.

Harry was simply relieved that a fall out didn’t occur between Ron’s mother and Meissa.

“Ready, are you?”

Meissa blinked at the voice, sensing the hostile tone in the words, and turned to face the person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many people will be leaving me reviews and comments for this chapter. I think I left ya'll with more questions than answers \o.o/


	36. Summer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is the last chapter for the first book! If you haven't followed me yet I would suggest doing so cause the Second Year will start in a separate story. I'm glad that ya'll have followed this story for as long as you have and I hope I see ya'll again for the Second Year. Enjoy!

It was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck with a large mustache that looked like a caterpillar from one of Hermione's books. The man looked rather purple faced, it was like someone had spelled him to look such a way. Except, she can distinctly remember that Potter's remaining relatives are muggles.

That particular bit of news meant that it would be illegal for any wizards and witches to use magic upon them without the muggles' express permission or if the continued knowledge of the Wizarding world places all of Magical Britain in danger. The loop hole was meant for the Obliviators to be able to do their job without facing legal/political punishment for wiping the muggles' memories.

Behind the man stood a tall thin woman with blonde hair and an insane amount of neck. Besides her was a boy who was wider than he was tall. There was no resemblance between the two males and Harry and only some resemblance between Harry and the long necked woman. Meissa found herself wondering if someone had stretched out the woman's neck when she was an infant.

It didn't escape Meissa's attention that the woman and boy looked terrified at the very sight of Harry. Although the boy's eyes kept darting around while his hands kept twitching and moving towards his behind until his mother tugged on them. She couldn't quite make out the reasoning for this kind of reaction. She may not know Harry that well but she was fairly confident that he did not deserve this kind of reaction.

"You must be Harry's family!" the Weasley matriarch exclaims, moving to offer a hand that was looked at scornfully and rejected by the heavy set man.

"In a manner of speaking," the man says, gruffly, barely glancing her way. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He walked away, leaving Meissa staring at his back. She really did not like him and the snub he gave the Weasley Matriarch…

Harry looked embarrassed at his uncle's actions, smiling apologetically at everyone.

"See you over the summer, then," Harry was saying to Ron and Hermione although Meissa felt that Daphne and her were included with the way his eyes swept over them, his green eyes brighten when he saw them.

"Hope you have - er - a good holiday," Hermione says, looking uncertainly after the heavy set man. Meissa wondered if she was shocked by the sheer unpleasantness of the man.

"Oh, I will," Harry grins at them, surprising Ron and Hermione while amusing the two Slytherin girls. That grin, in Meissa's opinion, was pure Slytherin. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…"

Meissa shook her head in amusement before she felt someone touch her elbow. She turns and finds her godmother standing there, her eyes looking rather disdainfully at the muggles going about their day. She glanced past her aunt, wondering where her cousin was, but did not see him.

"Meissa, it's time to leave now," her Aunt Narcissa comments airily, the slight upturn of her head telling the raven haired girl that her aunt was in no mood to tolerate the presence of muggles.

"May I say goodbye to my friends?" she requested of her aunt.

Narcissa paused, looking at the youths gathered behind her goddaughter. One had a pale shade of blonde that was similar to her son's, allowed to fall down her back with nary a strand out of place. Blue eyes gazed at her, meeting her own unflinchingly. The feel of the girl's magic was familiar, a faint reminder of her own Hogwarts years - this was a Greengrass.

Shifting her gaze to the other girl, Narcissa took one look at her and new she was not a pureblood. The warm chocolate brown eyes was a giveaway, no pureblood she knows would ever be so expressive, and the thick unruly brown hair was as bad if not worse than her goddaughter's hair when allowed to be free of any bindings. The way the girl dressed told Narcissa that this one was a muggleborn. But her close proximity to her goddaughter told her that she'll be needing to have words with her niece to ensure that images is kept.

But when she returned her gaze to Meissa, Narcissa saw the defiant set in her eyes and jaws. The physical resemblance between mother and daughter was now even stronger than usual. In this instance she knows that trying to persuade the girl from the muggleborn's side could result in more than several objects being destroyed in the girl's immediate vicinity. She was not willing to make any bets on whether those objects would priceless and irreplaceable.

"Make it quick," Narcissa informs her niece. "Your uncle is waiting for us." Meissa looked at her at the mention of her uncle, her eyes questioning as to which who she meant. "Your godfather," the witch elaborates, her voice softening slightly. She had no intention of ever exposing her goddaughter to her husband ever again.

"Okay," the raven haired girl mutters before she turned towards the muggleborn witch and hugged her, shocking the blonde haired witch. That one move told the woman that any attempt to separate the two would result in a painful existence for the offender.

With an internal sigh, Narcissa resolved herself to accepting the muggleborn witch and made a firm note to herself that Lucius is never to find out about this. The resulting events could potentially be too much for her young niece as the Malfoy Lord would do everything to keep the House of Black, and the Malfoy's name by association, from being tarnished.

She did not heed much of the girls' conversations, noting with a pleased smile that her niece seems to care for the Greengrass girl just as much as the muggleborn. She could take some measure of reassurance in this, as shallow as it may seem to anyone else.

Once the three girls were done hugging each other and saying their farewells Narcissa escorted her niece away, pausing only long enough to ensure that the Greengrass witch found her way to her parents. "So… what would you like for your birthday?" she asked her niece. The wide eyed look she got in response told her two things. One: shopping for her niece is really impossible on most occasions. Two: she forgot her own birthday again. Which would mean that her niece doesn't have any special requests.

"Can't we do what we always do?" Meissa asks innocently, unaware that her aunt wishes to spoil her.

"The point of celebrating your birthday is to invite friends," Narcissa comments lightly. Surely the her niece has managed to befriend someone? Other than the two girls.

"Um… I'm not sure 'Mione would be welcomed… and I have plans with Daphne already. I probably shouldn't bother her."

"I'm sure that your friends would love to spend time with you. Do they know when your birthday?"

"Um…. I think I told them?"

Narcissa sighed at that hesitant response. Chances were she never told them when her birthday is. If her niece was likely to forget her own birthday then it was more than likely she 'forgot' to inform her friends as well. "Perhaps you should owl them later, invite your friends to your birthday party."

"I don't know… I mean, we'll be meeting up on July 4th."

"I think your friend would appreciate knowing ahead of time when is your birthday. They may wish to celebrate it - even if not on the day of."

Meissa looks at her aunt for a moment longer for sighing. "Okay." She looks around to try and locate her cousin and his idiotic friends. She was rather surprised she hadn't heard any of his attempts at being sarcastic. "Where's Draco?" she finally asks when she did not spot him anywhere in their immediate vicinity.

"His father has decided that Draco needs a lesson in being the heir of the Malfoy family," Narcissa answers in a clipped tone that indicated just how much she distasted what her husband has planned. Meissa picked up on this and was unsure of what to think. As a Black, Meissa was kept excluded in an events that has to do with the Malfoy customs and could only imagine that her aunt was in the same boat despite being married to the Lord of the Malfoy estates.

"Oh… What are we going to do today?"

"Mm, we could replace your robes," Narcissa suggests. It was clear to her that her niece has grown a few inches in the time since she began schooling and her return.

"What? Why?" Meissa exclaims, acting exactly how Narcissa thought she would.

"You're at least three inches taller than before," Narcissa comments as she rests a hand on her niece's black hair. Mentally comparing the girl's current height with the height her niece was at when she visited during the Christmas break.

"Really?"

Meissa wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

She was already taller than most of the girls in her year, this recent growth would keep her firmly ahead of the other girls in terms of heights. It also explains the aches in her bones that had nothing to do with her recent visits to the hospital wing.

"Yes. I imagine your usual clothes are shorter than they were before," Narcissa comments idly, guiding her niece away from the busy Muggle platform so they could apparate away. She needed to get her niece to the store before the girl could lodge a protest and throw a tantrum.

~MJB~

Meissa whined as she sleepily leaned against her aunt's side, allowing her to guide her from the apparition point and into the manor that she lives in with her godfather. She knows that if he could he would rather stay at Spinner's End - the Nigri Sanctuarium was at least three storied with more rooms than she could count.

According to the portraits that hung around the house it was a recent addition to the Black Estates and that only her parents had lived in it prior to her birth. That she had been born within the safety of the wards during the war. Her godfather had arrived shortly after her birth and had held her awkwardly - according to a really maternal portrait. It was her favorite painting because she hoped that's how her mother would behave towards her.

Not that she ever really shared that bit with anyone.

In any case, she knows that her uncle feels uncomfortable in Nigri Sanctuarium. Spinner's End was a two storied house with three bedrooms, a lab for him to brew potions safely away from her, and a garden out back with all kind of plants. It was a really different from Nigri Sanctuarium since it was more cozy and feels more like a family home.

In Nigri Sanctuarium she feels lonely, even with her godfather working in the potions lab. She and Draco alternated between whose house they would stay in any particular week. But this particular summer would be different from all of the others.

She had a good feeling that her cousin would complain about being left to his own devices - at least until it occurs to him that he can bother his father to allow Crabbe and Goyle to visit. After that she's sure to become an afterthought.

She wasn't sure if she'll allow him to go over to the Nigri Sanctuarium while Hermione is visiting. Unless she had a promise from him that he'd behave and leave his father's point of view behind. That thought had a slim chance of seeing reality, in her opinion, so she decided to cast it out of her mind for the time being.

Instead she followed along at her aunt's promptings, leaning against her while she was unlocking the wards to her private rooms before flopping onto the bed with a noise that made it perfectly clear just how happy she was to be in her own bed once more.

Her aunt, having helped her over to the bed, shakes her head in exasperation at her niece's antics and withdraws her wand. She waves it once over the girl's shoes, casting a spell to undo the laces before she sends them off to the closet to join the other pairs of shoes. She studies her niece for a moment before deeming that it would not be wise to attempt to dress her into bed clothing. Her niece's tired state would mean she would not pay attention to who is changing her and simply lash out.

So she simply covers her niece up with the covers and leaves the room, making sure to shut the door completely behind her.

It would not do to have her niece go through a panic attack just because the door was left ajar.

Once she was sure that her niece was safely tucked away for the night she heads down the stairs, deciding to check the labs to see if Severus has returned from Hogwarts. She needed to discuss a few things with the Potion Master, regarding their goddaughter. Her niece has been scarce with the details of her treatment but she knows that her niece is required to take a certain dose at certain times of the day. A check up on where her niece is in for her regime would be a great start to ensuring that she stays on track.

She descends the stairs to the ground floor, walking through the hall before she reaches the door that will lead down to the potion labs. It's glamoured to look part of the wall, mostly to prevent Meissa from entering the labs unsupervised when she was too young to remember the patterns.

It hasn't quite work since Meissa was six years old, since she snuck into the labs and attempted to brew a potion that ultimately destroyed one of the rooms. The potion she brew reacted violently to something the raven haired girl had added and exploded, coating the entire room with a purple colored slime that caused the ingredients on the shelves to react.

She taps her wand at specific locations on the door before she hears the click of the lock. She considers for a moment about the purpose of the locking spell, wondering if it should be removed, before she decides to worry about it later.

Making sure that Severus was on the property and ready to watch after their goddaughter was a priority. Which meant that she has to check on him, to ensure that he hasn't lost himself in the middle of one of his creative trances. If he is in the middle of one she'll have to ask one of the house elves to keep an eye on Meissa under strict orders to not let her break any of the rules established by herself or Severus. At least until Severus snaps out of his trance - which usually only happens when he completes his current project.

But first, before she gets ahead of herself, she needs to check on Severus.

~MJB~

After a weekend of getting her summer potion homework done Meissa decided she was due for a break. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do though. Draco was still spending time with his father - that was the only explanation as he wasn't there with her. It was the first summer in years that they would spend time apart and she found that she didn't like it.

With nothing else to occupy her time she decides to obey her aunt's orders and owled Hermione, Daphne, and - after some consideration - Harry to inform them that she'll be celebrating her twelfth birthday soon. She wasn't particularly happy about how she worded the letters - it sounded arrogant to her to say 'My twelfth birthday is almost here. Contact me if you wish to make a day of it'. But she was at a lost as to how to phrase it so after at least five drafts she gave it up for a lost cause and just sent them off with her godfather's owl, Hermes.

Once that was taken care of she decided to explore the three storied manor, positive that she has not found every little secret yet. There's a room, on the third floor, that she has never been able to open. She remembers asking asked her godfather about it. This expression on his face, it was like he didn't want to consider the memory.

So she never asked about it again. But for as long as she could remember she would go and sit in front of the door, wondering and imagining what could be behind the door. She wanted to know what was so important that it would be locked away.

She had found other rooms that were locked too but they were easy to unlock with the wand she had retrieved from the library, stored away behind a secret door. There were other wands there too, some long and some short, with varying degrees of flexibility, and just about every imaginable combinations of woods and cores to create a wand. In fact she wouldn't have known what wand had which kind of core if it wasn't for the fact that someone had the foresight to label each wand with the name of the original owner, the period of time from which the owner had the wand to the time of death, the length of the wand, flexibility, wand wood and core.

The wand she bonded with prior to getting one from Ollivander was from a witch, supposedly someone who lived during the late fifth century or sixth century.

The feeling she got when she picked up Morgen's wand was just as powerful as the feeling she got when her own wand chose her. It felt like the wand was made for her. It is a yew rigid fourteen inches long wand with a blended core that consisted of a dragon's heartstring and phoenix tail feather. The design of the wand was rather simple, the wood is a light shade of brown that was tinted with white all along the length of it. It has dark markings that looks like runes - except she has never seen anything like them before. She had tried finding a book that would be able to translate what the runes said but she hasn't found anything of the like.

She probably won't mention to her godfather that she got into runes because of Morgen's wand. He knows that she has a wand without the Trace, he was there when her godmother revealed the collection of wands. He hasn't said anything about her using a wand from one of her ancestors since it's tradition within the Black family for those underage to select a compatible wand to use until they've turned 17, the age as determined by the Ministry.

Meissa can remember that moment like it was yesterday.

It was her sixth birthday, she had just spent most of the year living with her godfather at Hogwarts and had only been living at Nigri Sanctuarium for a few weeks when Aunt Cissy arrived at the house without Draco by her side. She had this elaborate gown on, a deep green floor length formal robe bordered with silver, and the most serious expression on her face. The heavy thrum in the air, to the magic sensitive young girl, was almost too much and told her that her sixth birthday was not going to be peaceful.

The first thing her aunt did was take Meissa's hands into her own, her eyes stern as their gaze locked. _"Meissa,"_ she said with the gravest tone she has ever heard from her aunt, _"Listen to me very carefully."_ Her aunt looked at her with these eyes that told her that she was very serious and she nodded to show that she was listening. _"Good. Today we will continue a long tradition of the family. But you must promise me a few things."_

" _What is it Aunt Cissy?"_

" _Today you will receive a wand from our ancestors."_ The squeeze of her hands kept Meissa from squealing and jumping from glee, the glacial blue eyes pinning her down and reminded her that this was serious. _"You must swear to me that you will not use the wand outside the Black estates."_ She didn't even get the chance to nod when her aunt continued on, _"You must swear that you will not use the wand unless you are with your godfather or I. And lastly, you must swear to me that you will not inform anyone outside of the family of the wand. Do you so swear to these terms?"_

The magic pressed down on her, strangling any careless promises that would have left her tongue. Meissa felt the urgency in the magic and the look in her aunt's eyes spoke to her. She could feel the little hairs on the back of her neck rise as she stood under the weight of the magic before finally the words came to her.

" _I so swear, upon my honor, life, and magic to obey these terms for as long as I am a Black."_

The second the words left her the magic was gone, no longer clinging to them. She could breathe again and the look on her aunt's face told her that she answered correctly. _"You must be careful,"_ she would remember her saying, " _If you break your promise…"_

" _I'll get hurt,"_ Meissa sums up for her aunt when she saw that she had hesitated.

" _Yes,"_ her aunt agreed before she led her to the library, explaining that the repository used to be kept within the Black Manor until Meissa's mother moved them into Nigri Sanctuarium. The look on her aunt's face told her that she was not going to receive any answers if she asked about the reason for the move. When they arrived in the heart of the library Meissa waited for her aunt to open the repository - she never knew that there was a repository in the library. It made her wonder if there were other secrets to be found in her home.

When the hidden door slid open she saw rows upon rows of wands of varying length and colors. Some were twisted upon themselves, some had some kind of elaborate design, some was rather plain looking, and some couldn't be described at all.

Her aunt had to nudge her into motion cause she was struck dumb by the magic she had never sensed before when she sat in the library. What she could feel felt overwhelming. Instead of one whole entity of magic it feels like the magic has been fractured into individual entities - each with its own personality. The closer she got the more she could feel the magic reaching out for her until finally she stood there, just inches away from each wand.

" _Hold your hand over each wand,"_ her aunt told her as she stood there. _"You should be able to feel out which feels comfortable to you."_

She did as she was told, her left hand held out in front of her before she slowly moved from wand to wand. Each one felt off and she would move on, the rejected wand's magic going dormant as she continued her search for one that felt right. Some would wiggle under her hand but the second she would pause the magic would touch her before going back into the wand, going dormant. Those ones she would look at in question before continuing on. She went through so many rows of wands that she was starting to think that she was not meant to have a wand when finally, on an extremely dusty shelf, she found it.

It was propped up on a stand and she could feel the steady beat of its magic, she could feel it align itself to the beat of her heart. A sense of belonging came to her as she stood there, staring until finally she reached her hand out for it. Her hand was mere inches away from the wand when it lifted off the stand and floated to her. A sharp noise behind her was not enough to distract her from the wand that was floating in front of her. The steady and calm beat filling her until she knew nothing else. Only then was she able to reach up and take the wand into her hand. Its magic spreading a sense of warmth through her.

That was the day the wand of Morgen claimed her as its new owner.

Not that she would tell her aunt.

With Morgen's wand in hand she wanted to tackle the wards on the door barred to her. But every time she thought about using the wand without supervision she would get an uneasy feeling along the back of her neck. The feeling always brings up the memory of the vow she made with her aunt. It wasn't the Unbreakable Vow but she made a promise with magic as her witness and she was not quite willing to test what would happen if she broke the promise.

When she was positive that her godfather was too preoccupied with his potion work she snuck away to the third floor. She knew that her godfather would be stuck down in the labs until one of the House Elves call upon him for supper or she gets into some kind of trouble that the elves can't handle on their own.

"Hello dearie," she hears as she was walking up the flight of stairs leading to the third floor. Unbidden a smile appeared on her face at the familiar greeting and she rushed up the last half. Situated across the locked door was a portrait of a woman with black hair as unruly as her own, shining black eyes, and a wicked grin on her ruby lips.

"Hi," she greets, standing in front of the portrait.

She wasn't sure who the woman is but for as long as she could remember this portrait has always been there. The only one on the entire floor - now that she can really say that. The hall she stood in was the only part of the third floor she could access. Everything else was locked behind that door.

"Had a good year?" the woman asks.

"It was okay," she answers. "I made some friends and enemies."

Her words got an immediate cackle from the woman, her eyes dancing with glee. "That's the whole point of Hogwarts!" the woman finally managed to say after a good two minutes of laughing.

"I think my godfather would disagree," she remarks.

"Mm, Severus has always been a bit too uptight," the woman remarks as she shook her head, sending the messy curls flying.

"That's not a nice thing to say about him," she observes.

"I see that you're not disputing it."

"I know that he's not very nice towards other people," Meissa states flatly.

"That's putting it mildly." Meissa arched an eyebrow at the woman, getting the exact look returned. "Fine," the woman rolls her eyes at the girl. "Anyway, dearie, it's almost time for your twelfth birthday, isn't it?"

"It is yes."

"Ready for it?"

"Not in the slightest."

"That's a good response," the woman cackled, briefly disappearing from the frame. Meissa assumed that she had fallen over - it wasn't the first time it has happened. She doubted it'll be the last.

She waited as the sound continued until finally the woman reappeared, the maniac grin on her face even wider than usual. Meissa stopped wondering, at a fairly young age, if she should be worried about that grin. It was just something she had come to accept from the woman.

"I think it's time," the woman remarks, confusing Meissa with the random statement.

"Time for what?"

"For your heritage."

Confused and curious Meissa stared at the woman before she gestured for the girl to turn around. Just as she made the gesture Meissa heard a click.

Not believing her ears she turns around slowly, her hand dropping to the wand strapped to her thigh.

The door, the always locked door, was now ajar.

"How…"

"Go on."

She looks at the portrait, frowning for a moment before she pushed the door all the way open, withdrawing the wand from its holster. The magic that normally pressed down on her every time she considered using it away from her godparents was gone and she realized something.

The magic would not harm her if she used it in self-defense.

Reassured by this she stepped into the room behind the door, curious as to what her heritage was.

At first all she saw was darkness. Bu the second she was fully inside the door closed behind her and the lights all turned on simultaneously, blinding her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the second year going next month. I have yet to hear any suggestions from people regarding the girls' summer so I will assume no one is interested in this.
> 
> If you want to see the girls' summer activities let me know within the week and I'll switch up my plans.


End file.
